Remember the Mickey Mouse Club? Neither do I, but we all know how the song goes. Now sing it with these words: “C-r-a! B-b-y! P-a-n-t-s! Crabby Pants! Crabby Pants!” Kinda makes you want to change out of the crabby pants just singing it…
I did a few laps in my crabby pants today. Attempted to do some work from home for my job as Organic Product Manager at Harris Seeds, and realized that while I might be able to write chatty blogs and emails right now, I do not have the same ability to analyze product pricing and make sales projections. Maybe that stuff takes place in the side of the brain that the Vicodin turns to glop. I’ve been trying to focus on the little victories – more about those later – rather than how far I am from where I was on July 3rd. But I miss being on the ball. I miss being sharp. I miss looking at a problem and fitting together the pieces. Right now I’m just getting through – which, don’t get me wrong, is so much better than not – but dammit, I don’t like to just get through.
But letting my crabby pants sit for a moment, here are the things that were good today: I was able to lie all the way down on my back to sleep last night, making my poor patoot much more comfortable, and I was also able to get up from that position. Michael had to be gone midday today, and I made my WHOLE LUNCH all by my little own vertical self. It’s amazing that what used to seem like a 3 step process (wash veggies, chop veggies, make salad) has magnified into like an 18 step process: wash lettuce and radishes, spin dry the lettuce, fetch a carrot peeler from the drawer, peel carrot, chop carrot, walk to pantry and bend down verrryyy slooooowly to try to reach a can of garbanzos, put can in handlebar bag, walk back to work station, realize that I forgot to get a can opener while getting the carrot peeler, walk back to the drawer, fetch can opener, walk back to counter, open and drain garbanzos, find tupperware tub that I can carry to my recovery suite in my handlebar bag, make salad, put salad dressing in walker’s water bottle holder, find fork, get back into suite without dogs following me, park it & chow. I meant to take a photo as I was so proud of it, but by the time I got to my recliner I had completely forgotten. But really, it felt good to make food for myself again.
Lots more to come – including some thoughts about my time in the hospital – but I think maybe the chatty blog side of my brain is gloppifying as well.
Here’s to another night of sweet horizontal dreams.