Saturday, December 23, 2017

The Joys Of Recovery, The Joys Of The Season

     In a less-than-great mood this morning, though better than it was earlier--

     I went to bed pretty early, after what seemed like an eternal uphill slog to cook up a couple of nice little filets mignon and a head of cauliflower Tam had purchased.  It was too ambitious a meal for me, which is embarrassing to admit because, face it, even with staggered cooking times for "rare" and "medium-well," it's not that big a deal -- start the long-count steak, clean a head of cauliflower (turn the steak) and chop it into steaming-sized chunks (turn the steak), rig up the simple steamer with some nice this and that parsley-and-garlic in the steaming water (turn the steak), start the water, start Tam's steak, and then keep an eye on steaks and steamer while getting out my orange drink--  It's nothing, really, and having Alexa to keep track of times for me is a huge help.  Nevertheless, by the time Tam was setting up tray tables so we could look at TV while we ate, I was exhausted and irritable.

     The TV was fine, but I was barely there; I did the sinus-rinse thing yet again and went to bed not too long after.  I've been sleeping propped up, practically sitting up as the doctor recommended, and it takes a little arranging.  Once there, sleep and comfort proved elusive.  For reasons that must have made sense at the time, I didn't take a pain pill and eventually muddled my way into shallow, not very restful sleep.

     Some infinite amount of time later, there was a series of short, horrible sounds.

     What seemed like quite a long while afterwards, but could not have been, I remember hearing, "Rannie?  Rannie!  Where are you horking?  --Oh.  Bobbi, keep your eyes shut."

     There was a click. The light switch.  Red light washed through my eyelids.

     "My cat threw up on your quilt.  Just now.  I think I can change it--"

     "Oh, unh -- okay?"

     There were various stirrings and rustlings.  What felt like a blanket* settled over my head and then the weight of the quilt was lifted off.  This was followed by an hour or two of someone going downstairs to the laundry area and returning, and then a presumably fresh quilt fell over me and was tugged into place.  The light switch clicked again and I heard my door being pulled to.

     I sneaked a look.  The dim nightlight revealed the yellow quilt had been replaced by a green one.

     For some perverse reason, all this kindness, fuss and bother infuriated me.  I was awake enough to realize the total inappropriateness of my reaction but there it hovered, like Cthulhu dangling beneath the Hindenburg (LZ129), spitting fire and swearing like a stevedore.  To hell with it.  I took a pain pill, moving very slowly and carefully to avoid dropping the bottle, and eventually drifted off into some dark and dreamless place.

     When the alarm woke me up at 0600 -- cat feeding time -- one or the other of the cats had gotten the door open and both cats were in bed with me.  I got up, looked in on Tam -- fast asleep -- and stumbled through feeding the cats, then went back to sleep for several hours.

     Got up, did another sinus rinse (four to eight per day, gak).  Managed to make fried, diced potato with bacon and scrambled eggs, along with a pot of coffee -- and had my first cup since surgery: tastes great! -- not too long ago, but if I can manage to get Tam to do the grocery-shopping, I have no intention of leaving the house today, or of doing any cooking more complicated than opening cans or building a sandwich.  We can have something fancy tomorrow or Christmas day.  Maybe I'll even take another pain pill.

     Maybe I'll wrap presents.
* That would be because it was a blanket.  I keep one on top of my bedcovers for the cats to sleep (and urp) on.  Rannie missed.


JPD said...

I have gathered my elf friends together here in Texas. We have reviewed your case. After careful deliberation, we are sending along a elf whammie. This whammie will gradually, over the next 24 hours, improve your condition IMMENSELY.

We are wishing you a great and healthy MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

John in Philly said...

In reference to the Hindenburg. That's a mental image you don't see every day.
"Oh, the inhumanity!"

Have a good Christmas.

Unknown said...

I'm prepping a rib roast for our fancy dinner tonight, and I sincerely hope things work out for y'all to enjoy something similar. At any rate, a merry Christmas to all.

For some reason, I am reminded of the time my 18lb Dachshund/Jack Russell mix horked up, without warning, a white oak acorn, ingested whole, at 3AM. She did, at least, manage to get from under the bedclothes before said episode. In retrospect, very amusing, but at the time, I threatened to return her to the pound (not really, not ever.)

The results of the time she ate a half pound of sun flower seeds from a bad of bird feed are best discussed after a glass of bourbon, among those with similarly scatological senses of humor.

Unknown said...

Bag, darn it. My proofreading skills have become sadly deficient in recent days.

Roberta X said...

None of us read to quite the proof we used to -- story understood nevertheless!

The Freeholder said...

I'm happy you're progressing well. Hopefully this addresses a lot of health issues for you. Have a Merry Christmas, and take it easy. No scooter riding.

New Jovian Thunderbolt said...

I am pleasantly shocked that nasal utility was evident almost instantly. I figured to breath and smell better required at least a week of healing before anything would even start to work. Good good.