Rachael

Dramamine made me feel normal again, like I wasn’t hungover AND drunk on a boat in a squall. And we had it in the cabinet at home, didn’t even have to get someone to get any for me.

I can tell I’m getting better because I’m getting antsy again. I tend to get antsy about five minutes after believing I’m starting to feel better. It is infinitely frustrating for those around me, because I do tend to want to build a better house around the one I’m in right when what I should be doing is resting, not digging out hammers and building supplies.

(A simple solution to this, I’ve found, is to read or watch decluttering pr0n — Lala’s letting me read her new book, It’s All Too Much, An Easy Plan for Living a Richer Life with Less Stuff. Do you know how much this stuff excites me? And then it falls out of my head as I drop into a nap, better than dropping off the ladder as I try to clean ceilings — do any of you have a fave declutter show that I can TiVo? There’s was a British one I used to love, but I can’t remember its name, and I’m not sure what’s on nowadays.)

Yesterday, I didn’t do too well. Because of the nausea I hadn’t eaten anything all day, so about noon-time, I knew I should be hungry, but wasn’t. I looked in the freezer and found some frozen ravioli that I thought didn’t sound too revolting, so I put on water to boil. While the water was boiling, I thought I would do some dishes. That was my first mistake. Not quite strong enough for dishes yet, because they exhausted me half-way through and left me in a full-body sweat. But no worries, I’d eat and feel better.

Got out the pasta sauce from the fridge, not sure if it’s still good, let’s open and have a sniff, and the WHOLE JAR flies out of my wet hands and lands on the tiles, exploding into a gazillion-trillion tiny little shards of red glass. It sprays from one end of the kitchen to the other, from the sink to the back wall. Even hit the ceiling.

I, of course, because of the state I’m already in, burst into tears and start cleaning. The dogs think lapping at shards of tomato glass is their new favorite hobby, and I’m SCREAMING at them, which doesn’t go well for anyone, because I’m not very loud, tonsil-less this way, and it’s mighty painful, but my body language must have been devastating, because they dropped to the ground under the kitchen table and stayed there, tails between legs. Normally not so good at the Stay, them. Even the kittens listened to me, and I’m not sure they’ve EVER heard me before.

I was in big trouble with Lala about this, doing too much. So I’m determinedly Not Doing Too Much. I’m going to read and watch more TV and nap a bunch more today. She has people coming over tonight but I am NOT CLEANING THE HOUSE. Even though it’s all I want to do. But I won’t. It’s her gathering, not mine, and I will merely take a shower (this is a big deal) and wear something befitting an invalid, and flit through the living room at times, looking gaunt and possibly wan, if I can pull either of those off (I don’t think I can, but forgive a girl for trying, right?).

HaHA! I am coming BACK!

Digit is doing great, but very sadly, still has the cone. They took the stitches out yesterday, but the skin is still raw around the two spots they did, so they want him to wear it a while longer, poor bub.

Whew. And that’s all I got.

It’s always like having this long, deep, SMART well in my backyard — I can toss a question in, and you all answer me in so many wonderful ways. You know everything! Thank you, all of you.

The nausea is not quite settled yet — living on ginger tea right now, but I just called my pharmacist and she said I could take benadryl with the Lortab (you clever ones, you, who suggested this) — it’s gonna make me SLEEPY but I could do with a little sleep right now. The doc upped my dosage schedule to every two hours instead of every four, with hopes that would help. I think it has, a bit, but right now I feel like I’m on a boat, and I’m not that fond of being on boats.

This CAN’T be interesting to anyone but me and Lala, and really, she has to say that, doesn’t she? So instead, what I saw on my bed yesterday (Digit was there, too, of course, but we have visitors often):

Willie, with a Harriet backdrop.

And look away if you mindless assless chaps on a cat, but how cute is this sleeping pose?

I am miserable. But instead of whinging, I’m looking for a little help this time. I’m on this codeine/acetominphen syrup called Lortab. I called yesterday to see if I could take something else instead, but this is the only thing the doc wants me on, and indeed, when I missed the dose by an hour yesterday, the increase in pain level was intense. So even if I’m not noticing that it’s doing a good job of pain management, I guess it is doing something.

But the other thing it’s doing is making me QUEASY. I am nauseated most of the time now, and I feel like I’ve got the spins, combined with a constant mild heartburn.

Any easy holistic ideas to help me? Emphasis on the easy — if it requires brewing something in a something-else, I won’t do it. I am eating religiously when I take the dose (every four to five hours), trying to get some protein in, scrambled eggs or chicken broth or tofu. I’m drinking enough, I think. I want crackers, but unless they’re soaked in soup, they’re too pointy. Any good ideas on what could help with the nausea?

The saddest thing is that I started Harry Potter yesterday, got about half-way in, and I’m too sick to go on reading it. When I doze off and have those feverish nausea dreams, the last thing you want is Harry Potter anxiety, flashes of spells and potions, and Hermione and Ron going the wrong way and I can’t catch them, and OH NO! Ick. Going to find a light romance instead. Very sad. (And now I have Black Magic, "oh what a spin I’m in" running through my head.)

And still? This continues to be the best medicine:

    Tomorrow the cone comes off! Hooray!

This shit is for the birds, people. I’m not familiar with many surgeries, thank goodness, but I *am* familiar with tonsillectomies. I mean, who pluralizes that? I know how to pluralize it. As this is my second, I know that they’re not kidding when they warn that the pain will GET WORSE for the first four to seven days.

It just ain’t right, but it’s so. As Lala pointed out to my complaining ass last night, EVERYTHING I need to do is affected. Breathing hurts due to the holes in my throat. Swallowing is awful. Eating is almost impossible. Talking is agony, AND I sound stupid. Can’t sleep for choking, and I feel too bad to even wash my hair.

And here’s this huge ugly wound, constantly moving, in a dark, bacteria-filled, dirty place, and it has to just fight its way through infection to health. Me and my throat, we’re tired. I know I’ll feel better soon, in a matter of days, probably.

But it’s been five days, and I’m more miserable now than I was then. Ain’t no drugs good enough for this, sadly.

Digit is the best drug for me even though at the moment he’s making me CRAZY trying to bump his cone-head up on top of my lap while I type. See? I’m even annoyed at him today. Bah, bah, bah.

And apparently I kvetch like a sheep.

Digit does NOT like Clara anymore than he ever did.

Handsome as Anthony Bourdain, and twice as dangerous.

https://rachaelherron.com/hopefully-by-no/

Digit eating, growling softly to keep Willie at bay.

And from another angle, the table looks like this:

But oh my god, if you get up and personal at the tail level, this is what’s going on:

WAYLON HELD DOWN DIGIT’S TAIL for like four minutes. Digit still twitches the end of the tail when he’s pissed off, so I know he has use of it, but is the feeling diminished? It must be! To allow THAT! And why did Waylon just sit there for so long? Not playing with it, like he does ALL other tails, just companionably holding it.