Over the past 211 hours (but who's counting) my arm has been held captive by a very tight papoose sling. I have a love/hate relationship with that damn sling.
I hate it 99.99% of the time.
When I'm brave enough to remove the sling for a wardrobe change, my arm feels as if 2 million alien chinchilla are gnawing at it.
My only relief is returning said arm to the sling. Which is when when I love my sling. (The technical term for this phenomenon is "Sling Stockholm Syndrome".)
Speaking of wardrobe, many would consider mine these days to be a fashion "don't". But it's actually more like a fashion HELL NO, DON'T YOU DARE.
I wear a long sleeved buttoned up PJ shirt under the sling. And pull-up pants. That don't necessarily have to match.
I tried, unsuccessfully, to put on jeans but could not pull up the zipper nor fasten them one-handed.
It was quite the scene.
It should be noted that I have not applied deodorant to my left arm pit for 9 days. I suspect that is why Dave and Kevin can most often be found seated to my right. Or in another room.
On a positive note, I have learned how to eat with my right hand. Typically 82% of the food ends up in my mouth. Four percent lands on my face, 2% in my hair and the rest is, unfortunately, destined for my shirt, and contributes to the need for a wardrobe change.
I entertain myself during the day by deleting junk mail from my in-box. The rest of the time I am either reading, binge watching NetFlix, or shopping online.
Dave thinks this surgery has saved us a fortune in shopping expenses. Wait till he sees my Discover card bill. Which brings me to my scathingly brilliant idea for a revision to ObamaCare: allow me to use my Health Savings Account card for surgical recovery shopping. (Feel free to use this idea, Donald.)
Dave and I go on one "special" outing each day. Yesterday's trip to the Dollar Tree was just too darn short! Although I am grateful to be getting out of the house, Dave has absolutely no appreciation for the Dollar Tree Customer Experience.
My surgeon, who has a very sick sense humor, prescribed what appeared to be Michael Jackson/Elvis drugs, but were really placebos. The only impact the meds had on me required additional pills, the first of which I affectionately called S2. (Stool softener) The second was Benedryl, to get rid of the rash that covered my torso. I threw a third into the mix: Chardonnay.
I can finally sleep through the night.
I have a follow-up appointment with my surgeon tomorrow. That's when I'll get the scoop about physical therapy. If he takes my arm out of the sling I cannot be held accountable for his well-being.
That's all the news I have to report. Except I'm still trying to pull my hair into a pony tail one handed. One of my neighbors did it for me last week. She said my hair was soft.
I must have had bananas for breakfast that day.
I have an idea, but I'll need Dave's cooperation: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vzJ7lf8mqBg