Unwise

I took a very brief shower yesterday. It was a mistake. So, I am never taking off this bra again. Seriously, I’m just going to live in it. I should have showered in it. Or had someone stand in the shower with me and just hold that boob all Janet Jackson style.

I feel like I’m off the pain scale in some way. Like I’m not in much actual pain, but the discomfort and the swelling are breaking my heart. I just want to feel like myself. Though definitely, showering with that boob having to even briefly support its own weight was like a 4 or 5 on the pain scale, which was alarming considering I’d been having almost no pain since the surgery.

So, in general, the painkillers keep the pain at a 0 or a 1, but on the just feeling weird and uncomfortable and not like myself scale, I’m sitting at a 5 all day.

But my house is crammed full of food. The Professor sent us a big box of ridiculousness that even included chocolate cakes and a note that made both me and my mom cry. And then C. showed up with a lasagna his wife made that was so huge that he wouldn’t let me lift it because he was fairly certain that the dish was over my weight limit. We ate it for dinner and it was ridiculously awesome.

I just feel bad for my parents because I need a lot of minor help–I have trouble getting up from places and the pain killers make me wobbly when I’m up and I can’t really hold coherent conversations and they’ve already mowed and mopped and trimmed trees. I’m sure it’s got to be boring as fuck for them.

But I’m glad they’re here.

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