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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