Wanted to start today with a pretty picture, a lovely yellow daffodil because that’s how I’m feeling. This horrible virus is nearly gone and I woke up feeling just about normal today. Ribs brought me the daffs on Friday. A double bonus because it was Daffodil Day and I love those flowers, they always make me feel happy and they look so sunny in my kitchen.

Last night I craved chicken noodle soup and Beloved indulged me, buying some on his way home from work. I think it must have been that that really did the trick. Nothing like a bit of nursery food to really help things along. Funny, I didn’t even eat all the noodles. I’m still very aware that I should only be having liquids at this stage of the healing process. I’m not sure why this is. I guess partly because liquids will pass through the gap more easily and not push the band out of position, and partly because liquids don’t require the stomach to do all the squishing around stuff that it does, at least not quite so much, so again, the band isn’t so much at risk of being pushed out of position.

I took the dressings off my wounds yesterday and there’s hardly anything to show, just some fairly well-healed cuts. I can feel the slight bump of Doris under the biggest of the cuts. It’s not intrusive, and I don’t notice it most of the time. I still haven’t had any real appetite, so it’s not a problem sticking to the liquid diet, other than that feeling I always have of just wanting to chew and to eat. Of the satisfying mouth feel of food.

I’ve been working my way through Linda Spangle’s Life is Hard, Food is Easy in the past few days. It’s an interesting and insightful read and I do recommend it, especially to people like me. I do believe that food is my alcohol. I don’t drink. Not at all. Not even socially. Never have. It lead to a great deal of confusion and some teasing when I was a teenager and all my friends were, if not making a career out of getting plastered every weekend, at least exploring the depths of their capacity for drink. I made up any number of excuses, reasons and procrastinations, but basically, I just…don’t. One reason I have been using more and more these days is “I don’t drink. Look at me, I can’t even get food right, I’m not going to risk myself with alcohol.” This is pretty well founded. Both of Mum’s parents and one of her brothers were alcoholics. Grandfather died of a kidney disease before I was born and Nana used to stash whisky around the house.

I have always been concerned that if there’s some sort of gene for alcohol or dependent behaviour, then I probably have it. So I stuck with food. At least you’re still okay to drive even after stuffing yourself with KFC (even with an upsize) and you never hear of people getting into domestic disputes after they’ve put away most of a box of chocolates (I think the opposite tends to happen with chocolate).

But I have used food for the same reasons as alcoholics use alcohol and that’s where the problem’s come from.

Now I’m finding the new way.

I’ll blog, I’ll explore my feelings, I’ll take photos, I’ll exercise.

Here’s a little blossom on my almond tree. I wonder if it will survive into a nut next autumn. I hope the cockies don’t eat it.

So glad you all liked my very fabulous pyjama bottoms with the dots. It was the first time I wore them (and then the cat jumped up with muddy paws, so they had to have a wash) but I am looking forward to donating them to the op shop because they are too big. Your kind thoughts and words have kept me going.

Now I’m going to catch up on all your blogs.

I’m sorry to have taken so long to post. I’ve had the virus from hell all weekend and still feeling like crap on toast. I did want to start of by saying thank you to everyone for your thoughts and wishes. This is without doubt the best thing I have ever done for myself. I am so happy, (even if I do feel like crap on toast).

Probably the worst part of the whole procedure was the anaesthetist getting a line in. My veins are slippery little devils and it took him 5 goes. I have some lovely bruising. Once the anaesthetic started to work, I got this alarming feeling that there were about 1000 bullants all attacking my pubes. Fortunately I was unconscious before I got the chance to grab myself where it isn’t polite.

Once I woke up, I’m afraid I whinged a bit to the nurse:

Can I have this thing off my face now?
no
When can I have it off?
later
Can I put the bed flat now?
no
When can I put the bed flat?
tomorrow
But I want to sleep
you can sleep with the bed like that
Can I have these things off my legs now?
no
When can I have them off?
tomorrow
Can I have these drip thingies out of my arms now?
no
When can I have them out?
just before you go home

I had these inflatable cuff thingies on my legs, they pumped away, day and night, supposed to stop dvt occurring. Sitting up was supposed to make it easier for me to breathe.

That first night I was given my first drink: 30ml of water. That’s like – a thimbleful. It had to last an hour. With this virus coming on, I was getting more and more dehydrated, and that, combined with the coughing and sneezing, hasn’t been a good thing. But aside from the virus I really do feel good. Pain is quite minimal, and I think it’s more due to the coughing, sneezing, and blowing my nose a million times than to the surgery.

The hospital was real nice. I had a private room. I think it might be all private rooms in there. I noticed that the lady across the hall seemed to be getting the exact same treatment as I was and I assumed she was another one of Adam’s patients.

There was a whole team involved in the procedure, but that’s Adam, the surgeon. Everyone was friendly and upbeat.

The lady across the hall left before I did, I was a bit disappointed because I had wanted to chat with her. Anyway, I had to have an xray on the way home, and there she was, in the xray clinic. We gave each other a high-5 and congratulated each other on our great step forward.

I’ve been so excited. Miserable with this damn’ virus, but only because it’s frustrating me. I want to get on the treadmill and start walking. I want to do exercises and see positive results.

I wanna get out there and do that stuff that skinny people do!

Many thanks, everyone, for your wonderful thoughts and virtual hugs. I carried them all with me to the hospital.

Here I am, home from the hospital and showing off my various wounds. The one I’m pointing to is the big one which has a couple of stitches, and the port is behind there.

Feeling a bit tired but real good, and excited. So excited. New life is starting now.