Monday, March 2, 2015

I remember, after my boob surgery, wanting to lay on the couch (that I had at Dixon House) with a blanket and the remote.  Instead, The Dad got the hell out of dodge and I got in my bed with the pup and Chrissy fell asleep in the living room here.  I remember after all the miscarriages laying on that Dixon House couch watching movies - Dave picked up take out and in no time at all - all was well in the world.  Or at least mine. Until the next thing.

I wanted to lounge on those couches today…

I went for my surgery for the skin cancer.  They said I could go myself and I wanted to, though I questioned if I would be able to drive or back up and get out of the parking space.  I ended up pulling through in the parking lot so I could get out with no problem. So the only thing I had to worry about was backing into the driveway.

I would be fine on my own.

I always am.

Chrissy insisted she meet me at the plastic surgeon's office. They were running late.  Really late. They finally called me back and I waited some more. The whole procedure didn't take too long, though it seemed like it took three hours for him to stitch me up.  I kept asking how many stitches I was getting and he just kept saying "lots."

We went to eat after and, honestly, I  just wanted to get back to bed.  When I walked in the house, though, I felt a little sick. It just hit me that I wasn't going to go up and lay on that Dixon House couch and David wasn't going to pick up take out. Instead, I had about 45 minutes before The Dad got back.  I hurried up and jumped into bed kind of shaking. I didn't plan anything for dinner (neither did he) but he did make me an egg sandwich eventually.  You know, his specialty and cure all for everything.

I wanted to be by myself for awhile even though "by myself" was the last thing I wanted. Does that make sense? I  took today off since the surgery was at a weird time  I should have taken tomorrow off. My arm is starting to hurt now and I'm worried about pushing wheelchairs or a resident grabbing me or getting MRSA.

And I miss those couches and, you know…

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