It’s not as if I knew I was doing far too much while we were out of the house, yesterday. I mean, all I did was walk with walker from house to car where our tires bounced along the street until it came time to transfer me into a wheelchair outside the doctors’ offices into which I ‘stayed put’ throughout my appointments until David picked us up, at which time my smile transferred from wheelchair to front bucket seat in our small, rented, SUB and then to my walker as I made my way up the driveway toward the front door of our Airbnb and down the hall to our bedroom, first making a beeline for the small master bathroom where my kidneys clamored for relief, after which I managed to sit on the edge of our king sized bed in such a way as to catch my breath before swinging each leg solo over the mattress in slow mo, so as to lie myself down and smother my upper body in pillows so strategically placed as to help me to pretend that my sternum, front to back, was not throbbing like an electrified drum (you know, out of sight, out of mind’).
At any rate, the Ativan swallowed about an hour ago is taking the edge off my pain, and in five minutes time, a hydro codone will offer my smile reason to hangout on my face, until, hour by hour, another day, post op, shall pass, offering my immune system time to refortify personal strengths, which had been mine before the tumor had mustered their hutzpah to invade my lung uninvited ...
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