Recovery 101

Save me from myself! After a recent surgery, I was told to lie low, stay off my feet, take it easy and recuperate.  This is all fine and good – almost like a mini-vacation, but much easier said than done.  It would be helpful, I think, if the prescription actually laid out the “how” and “what” you were supposed to be doing (in sequential order) to accomplish these seemingly simple tasks.  But since I didn’t have this information, I was at the mercy of my “in sickness and in health” steadfast partner and his ever present (yes, he is an engineer) logic.

I was able to dodge the first bullet of reason from my betrothed.  I was up and out of bed before he reached REM.  I escaped his usual rationale of the only way to get better is to stay in bed.  The debate was on and by meeting him halfway and convincing him I would stay in my pajamas until noon - heaven forbid I be seen in public (even though my neighbors will attest that I am out in the front yard with the fluffier members of the family, every morning by 5:30AM, in all my glory) with my hair looking like I stuck my finger in a light socket and my extremely ugly, but deliciously pink, cozy and chenille robe having the chance of being misunderstood - helped to slow down my pace and give me the appropriate “feeling sorry for myself” mind-set, which, as we know, is the all important first step to healing.

I hate when you think you feel better than you really are and end up doing too much, too soon, which lands you back two steps in the mending process.  Compounded by the fact that mom’s are not supposed to be sick (the dust bunnies just intuitively know when the leader is down) you recognize that the only alternative that will force quicker convalescence is a good dose of daytime TV. Not that I haven’t watched my fare share of soaps, Oprah and the occasional game show over the years, but when you must start your road to recovery at 8AM and sit through 4PM, with only an occasional excursion to the refrigerator or bathroom, you pray that you get better… soon.

The state of daytime TV is dismal.  We have satellite, cable and TiVo and the pickin’s are still slim.  If I had to watch this senseless dribble every day and be subjected to some of the most offensive commercials that have ever seen the light of day, I would probably have to commit hari kari on myself.  It frustrated me that other than the occasional tidbits of trivia (that were quickly stored away in my vast reservoir of trivia) that were gleaned from the Food Network (substitutions for buttermilk really do come in handy), MTV (I learned how to Pimp My Ride!), and E! (I hadn’t caught all the sordid details the first time I saw that episode of Dynasty), my day in front of the “boob tube” would have been a waste.

I must admit I did feel better after sitting around for a full day.  But I knew I didn’t want to spend another day being depressed that the home shopping network doesn’t really have that great of deals, at least on the stuff I wanted, and willed myself to at least have enough energy to create a “honey do” list. By allowing my love muffin the opportunity to fulfill my fantasies of making dinner, vacuuming, dusting, emptying the dishwasher and running the washing machine, it was almost like I was back to my ole’ self.  Well, since he is in the groove now and feeling like he is helping, I would hate to dissuade him… so, it may take another week or so until I feel 100%.  In the meantime, this experience could be a parlayed into a TV reality show… and that would be something I could sit and watch.

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life.  Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.                      

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-