I am just over two weeks post-op now, and this whole experience is so mentally and physically exhausting. Some days are really pretty good, but most days I feel like I need to put on a brave face and tell everybody that I am okay even though I'm not, so that nobody worries about me. I don't like making people all scared and concerned when they don't really need to be. It's just so hard to put up that front all the time and I keep having mini meltdowns. Today was definitely one of those days.
Being on so many prescriptions is not fun. I'm on narcotics, muscle relaxers, nausea medications, laxatives, supplements, you name it I've got it. It all makes me feel terrible. I know they're necessary, but they're terrible. It's like I'm damned if I do, I'm damned if I don't. If I take my painkillers I feel like I'm going to float away and throw up at the same time. If I don't take my painkillers, I feel like my body is tearing itself apart. Trying to find a happy medium seems almost impossible. I am trying to wean myself off of some painkillers to try and regain some semblance of normalcy. I don't like not feeling like myself. Today that caused me to have an anxiety attack. So I cried, took a shower, ate some soup, took some painkillers, passed out for four hours, and felt better when I woke up. I'll probably be repeating that cycle soon.
Most of my steri-strips have fallen off of my back. I think it's a combination of me finally showering, and me rolling around in bed that is loosening them up. Now that they are mostly gone I can see my tattoo is quite a a bit crooked now. Boo. I am disappointed about that. I am hoping my tattoo artist will be able to fix it a little or make it look somewhat more normal somehow. I don't know if that's possible.
I'm gonna go nap or something now I guess. I took my meds and I'm feeling weird now again. So goes my life.
Bent but not broken,
Robin
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