Pity Party: 24 hours of self-commiseration

Day 9

  I was expecting this day to come right around now.  I had my pity-party; it's over now.  I was joking  with friends before my surgery how I picture myself after the surgery: in bed, barely moving with a bag of chips in one hand and drool coming out the corner of my mouth. Yesterday, I was that person.

  Everything I do takes much more effort and three times as long. I'm not that patient yet! Naturally, that made me a little sad.  Also, I drank way too much wine on Tuesday night in celebration of my return to Kingston and my one week post-op.  "Don't drink too much," said Tim. "I won't," I said thinking I have this totally under control.  That was not the case, I was way over my head.  Tim had to work the next day and I woke him up at 3am Wednesday morning to grab me a bucket and kept him up for the next two hours.

  I realize alcohol is a depressant and that I didn't make the best choice. I spent all of Wednesday feeling sorry for myself: crying, eating and staring off into space.  I didn't feel like doing anything and I was alone for the first time since the surgery. Tim bought some all-dressed and sour cream and onion chips the night before.  I found them in the same cupboard as our travel mugs on the top shelf hidden between the martini glasses. You can't hide anything in a woman's house.  She'll always find it!

  "MICHELLE, how are you?" texted Carolyn. "Hi," I responded,  "I'm that person I didn't want to be. Demotivated, bored and eating too many chips." "Watch documentaries on Netflix," she continued, "educate than scare the shit out of yourself."  Carolyn is my best friend from college.  She is the type of person that would say wildly inappropriate things at any time and is absolutely hysterical to be around. "Get Tim to draw dicks on your cast.  Big long skinny ones, short fat juicy ones, itsy bitsy teeny weeny peens." "It's fiberglass, can't really draw on it," I texted.  "Where there's a will, there's a way," she declared.  "Get a thick marker. Silver. Or you could decoupage some dicks on there." "No will here," I responded.  I ended up taking Carolyn's first suggestion and decided to watch a documentary on Katy Perry's 2011 tour. Even beautiful, successful, rich and talented people get depressed too.  I felt a bit better.

  I still have another 4-5 weeks to go with a cast that I can put absolutely no weight on before I get switched to a walking cast.  The good news is that pain is minimal in part to the fact that I've been keeping my leg elevated as much as I can above my heart to improve circulation and reduce swelling and discomfort.

  Anyways, I plan to do a little bit more with myself today.  I have a workout area set up in my bedroom.  In the back of my mind, I'm still going to become a one legged work-out YouTube sensation. But, probably not.