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...

When Em came

4 weeks post surgery Em came to visit.

We flew home together. ( well ... away from hers but closer to mine)

Her annual visit is always much anticipated and we love to have her lolloping around our house.

This time, Em was placed under the strenuous task of being my muscles for the week ( yes sir, no lifting for me)

We flew in Tuesday night.

During the week she came...

 

We went to the Vic Markets. It was a stinking hot day. Above 38 and I'm a mess on the floor when the mercury goes above 33. We retreated to the comfort of the Turners lounge room floor later that day.

 

 

We stayed up late and swooned over Gerard Butler and cried ( well i cried) and then did it all over again the next day.

We made it to Luna Park ( photos not included because the camera went flat)

We shopped and shopped.. We ate and ate.

We celebrated my father in laws 60th and Em celebrated their wifi ( we have none)

We phase 10 marathoned it till the late hours.

It was a deliciously short week and we wish she could've stayed longer. -if only to hang the washing out for me or put Boy in his car seat one more time ;)

We love to have her with us. We said our goodbyes and she left us in the wee hours of Monday morning.

See you when you come to visit again.

Boy says " Where Emlee? Emlee go plane sky? Emlee home" ( sad face )

From loke to love #5

read from loke to love #4 here

The language of loke

from loke to love part five

There is 21 days between me and eternity with my forever.

Kyle has flown back to Victoria for a week to work and save money for our honeymoon. I miss him dearly. I miss his warmth and comfort. I miss the calmative effect he has on me. 

Without him I feel like a little bird balancing on a power line. Flitting about trying to keep my balance and finally loosing footing before two little feet, in a moment of disaster, hit two separate lines and puff the current is complete and my little feet are completely singed and my little feathers are in a flurry above my head.

I get hives. I get a serious case of hives that stays for a week. My eyes puff up like a balloon. Like I am allergic to life.

Finally as the hives start to fade in severity the back of my throat bursts into a big delicious pustulous ulcer. It oozes a horrid trickle of green down the back of my throat. I can't eat. It is 14 days till eternity.

To make money matters worse, I am so unwell I can't work. 

I am a mess. My feathers aren't just ruffled, the shock has violently plucked them from my tiny bird body and hurled them into the sky.

I loose weight. The fat melts from my body as the healthy size I had been struggling to maintain slips from my grasp.

I am back to thin. Pale. Sickly.

I don't have the energy for anything. Let alone planning last minute wedding ideas.  It is with a weary heart I board the plane with 7 days to go. The antibiotics I am taking leave a horrid taste in my mouth. I can barely talk. I am completely defeated.

At the airport I walk the white tiles that seem to carry on for a thousand miles and descend to the bag area.

Kyle is there. He turns to me. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile but his eyes greet me with worry. He takes me by the shoulders and pulls me deep into his embrace.

" I am so hungry" I whisper with a choke

"We'll get you something to eat" he soothes

"It hurts to eat" I bow my head in defeat

"You'll be ok" His words balm my throat like warm honey.


And the worry dissipates as he settles my broken mind.

20 minutes later on the way home, I am improved enough to try and eat. The first meal I eat in 7 days is a KFC popcorn chicken. Chicken never tasted so good.