Burnt toast & a broken plate

Things with my body since surgery are frustrating.


Today is six weeks post surgery and Hunna said to me last night

" wouldn't it be great if you just woke up tomorrow and you were suddenly better?"

" Definitely " I replied.

Yesterday was the worst day. My body is not doing anything usual. The twitches and twinges that are usually associated with one thing now mean another.

Things like : - the old feeling of period pain now means go do a number two. The new feeling of period pain is lower back pain.. Etc

It's a hard process figuring out what I actually need at the moment.

My hormones have been off the show and so have my periods.

Yesterday I sent Hunna this exasperated text. ( Mum if you're reading you might want to avert your eyes from the text. Level 3 swear word warning )

Suffice to say, the day wasn't great. By night time I had sat on the toilet at least 10 times with some ugly results. I just felt horrid.

This morning as I put the toast in to cook under the grill ( we don't have a toaster) I got distracted. When I ran over half the muffins were burnt. The smoke alarm started blaring loudly as I salvaged the other half and sat down to eat my semi smoked toast. A second later ( he scoffs everything) Boy came up with his plate and asked for more, as I reached out my fingers didn't quite grasp the lip of the plate and it came down with an almighty smash.

Pieces were everywhere and Boy and I wailed and hugged each other for a few minutes. Both in complete distress before I pulled myself together. Calmed him down. Got him the plastic Nemo plate ( which he should've had in the first place ) . And started again.

The funny thing was that earlier this morning I was thinking about how I should probably try for a New Years resolution. And was wondering why I lacked complete motivation to come up with something.

I realised, as I perfectly cooked some more muffins, that each day.. each moment. I have a chance for a "do over".

I'm just not the type to wait.

All the " I'll start that tomorrow's " do is give me an opportunity to procrastinate.

Yesterday as we sat and watched t.v ( after giving up for the tenth time) Boy came up to me and kissed my scar. " Feel better?" He looked at me through his long lashes. " You need bancake ( bandaid) on your tummy?" He asked. And I cuddled him and felt the strength return to my limbs and the will return to my mind.

And I got up and started again.

So here's to starting again. ...and again.... and again...