Today was a much better day. Saturday was the roughest, Sunday had its up and downs, but today was pretty much okay. I think what helped is actually taking my pain medication during the day. I don't like being drowsy and sleepy throughout the day, because then I'm not able to sleep at night, so over the weekend I was taking a full dose in the morning (around 11:00am), and another full dose at night (around 11:00pm)... and that's it. Yeah, not such a good idea. So today I got up, showered, sat down in the living room because I felt dizzy and a bit weak, and had breakfast (chocolate shake, blech) and a half dose of Vicodin. It was enough to take away the pain and relax me without actually knocking me out. I felt so good, in fact, that about an hour after that I put away some of the kids' laundry and scooped cat litter.
I took another dose of Vicodin around 6:00pm, but I accidentally took a 3/4 dose instead of a half dose. That extra one fourth worth of Vicodin had me feeling dizzy and lightheaded, but not quite drowsy. I went and laid down around 7:30pm and didn't get back out of bed until about a half hour ago. I dozed a bit here and there, but I mostly watched House, Trauma and a bit of Jay Leno.
I went out to the grocery store this evening. Fun times. I was just so damn sick of plain chicken soup broth and chicken stock that I begged Dan to take me to the grocery store. I picked out several chunkier and more flavorful soups whose broths are bound to pack some more taste than what I've been getting. And I wasn't disappointed... minestrone soup broth was AWESOME!
Have I mentioned that I am counting down the days until Thanksgiving? I am so over this shake and soup broth crap. Now that I'm home and feeling a bit better my hunger has returned. Spaghetti, fried chicken and French fries have all smelled mouth-wateringly good. Yet the sugar cookies I made with Alyssa this afternoon (and let her and Ryan decorate with leaf and pumpkin sprinkles) smelled and tasted (I put a dot-sized amount on my tongue just for a taste, because I was curious about many post-op patients saying that sweet things taste off and unappetizing -- looks like they were right!) off.
Oh, and food commercials? EVIL. I have never craved Subway subs, Applebee's appetizers, Pizza Hut's pasta and Domino's pizza like I am now! Heh. I can start to
slowly
re-introduce normal foods in weeks 5 and 6 (Christmas and New Year's!), and man oh man I cannot WAIT.
Okay, enough of my food babbling. This must seriously be the largest amount of text I have ever devoted to food. So yes, enough. Right now I'm relaxing in the living room. Blanket over my lap and legs, dog nestled on the arm of the recliner and my left thigh, laptop conveniently positioned in front of me thanks to a Tablemate tray, no pain or twinges unless I move, starting to feel sleepy, down 12 lbs. since surgery last Wednesday... Life is good!
Pardon the whine, but damn do I hurt. The pain almost seems worse since I've come home. Yesterday's wheelchair ride down to the car and then the hour-long drive home was very painful. I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit that I burst into tears when I made it into the bedroom. But at that point my stomach, intestines and god knows what else were burning and aching, and the gas pains were also quite painful. TMI, but they blew up my abdominal cavity with air during the procedure, and now that air is circulating around and oh-so-slowly making its way out. TMI again, but I've seriously never been so anxious to let one rip. These gas pains are horrendous. The worst was on Wednesday night, when the trapped air migrated up to my chest cavity. I'm laying there tingling from head to toe from the morphine (no nausea or vomiting, thank god, since I insisted on anti-nausea meds to take along with the morphine) and suddenly I feel a tight band of pressure around my chest and back, and I'm not only having trouble breathing, but it's painful to breathe. I seriously started to panic, thinking I was having a collapsed lung or something similarly freaky. Thankfully, a quick vitals check, EKG and x-ray all confirmed that I was fine, and it was in fact trapped air. Since then some of it has dissipated, but there's plenty left, and it presses painfully on my stomach and intestines.
I have liquid Vicodin... an "elixir", as it was noted on the prescription form. But I don't like taking it 'round the clock, despite the fact that I can take 15 ml worth every six hours. I did take it every 6-8 hours in the hospital, after the morphine pump was removed (I was doing that ever 6-8 hours as well), but now that I'm home I'm easing away from it. It does wonders for the pain, but it makes me very sleepy and puts me out for at least an hour or two, and nothing sucks more than not being able to sleep at night because you napped during the day.
So right now I'm sitting here with what feels like an abdominal cavity full of flames. Then there's the gas pains that add to the fun. And some random shoulder pain (migrated trapped air or agitated nerve from surgery) for good measure. I took a full dose of Vicodin this morning around 11:00am, and a half dose around 5:00pm. As soon as I finish up this post I'm taking a full 15 ml dose, and then I plan on snuggling in bed with Dan (as much as I can snuggle, anyway, since he's afraid to put any pressure on my chest and stomach, and I'm not too comfortable no matter how I sit or lay) and watching CSI until I drop off. I've been wearing my glasses all day (yay laziness!), so I won't even have to get back up to take out my contacts. Now let's just hope I don't have to pee. Nothing sucks more than being ready to nod off, almost pain-free, and then having to haul back up out of bed to go to the bathroom. Yes, I've been-there-done-that -- last night, and I wasn't very happy about it. Fortunately, once I did crawl back into bed I crashed hard. I slept for nine hours straight. But irony of ironies? I woke up ON my stomach. Go freakin' figure.
P.S. I wrote about my surgery experience at That Fat Chick, where I've been blogging about my journey with weight loss surgery for the past two and a half years.
I took a shower around 4:35am on Wednesday morning. I didn't have another shower until Friday afternoon. While I didn't do anything strenuous, break a sweat, get dirty, etc., I still felt incredibly gross by Thursday night, and couldn't wait to get my IV out on Friday morning so I could get a shower. My IV came out in the morning, and I only managed to restrain myself from waking up Dan so he could help me shower because I fell asleep myself. But let me tell you, when 12:30pm rolled around and I opened my eyes, the first thing I did was wake up Dan and ask him for his help. He's been so wonderful with helping me, from the very start. From getting things for me, helping me up in bed or getting re-positioned, to helping me shower by washing my back, helping me dry off, and, excuse the humiliation, helping me put on my underwear and pajama bottoms because it hurts so bad to bend over, he's done everything I could possibly want and then some. I know I need the help and it's good for me to rest so that I can recover, but I still feel weird depending on somebody else so much, even if that somebody else is my husband.
Anyway, I took a shower this evening. I used Big Sexy Hair shampoo and conditioner, and Amazon Rainforest Brazil Nut & Vanilla body wash. The body wash, by the way, smells like cupcakes. Alyssa picked it out for that very reason. Fabulous, I know.
So there's my night: I took a shower and feel awesomely clean.
I was discharged this afternoon. Actually, the official discharge was timestamped at 9:55am, but I had to try and eat some breakfast, and then I had pain meds, and then I fell asleep, and then I wanted a shower, and then we had to wait for a wheelchair to arrive, and before I knew it the clock said 2:00pm, even though I was first woken up around 9:00am. Actually, I was first woken up around 4:00am for a blood pressure check, and again around 6:00am by my surgeon, and yet again at 7:30am by another surgeon. That is one thing about the medical program I've been participating in -- they have been very vigilant with me from the start. And while it sucks to be poked and prodded at on an hourly and bi-hourly basis, it's good to know that they're looking after me. Blood pressure, temperature, oxygen level, pain level, do I need anything to drink, any pain meds, etc.
One thing I didn't get a lot of in the hospital is sleep. I think the best sleep I had was the six or so hours I was basically out of it after surgery. I went in for surgery around 8:45am, and according to Dan I was done by 11:30am or so. I remember being woken up in the recovery room and asked if I wanted to be moved to my room so I could be with my family, but I said no because I was in so much pain (serious pain/tightness in my diaphragm, which was from the surgery as well as a small hernia I didn't know I had -- the surgeon fixed that while performing the gastric bypass) and felt so out of it. I vaguely remember being wheeled to my room, being transferred to my bed and being given the remote to press if I wanted pain meds, and feeling my mom touch my head and Dan kiss me, but that's about it. Next thing I know it was evening, and I was asked to get up and walk down the hallway and back, and then sit in a chair -- where I promptly fell asleep for two hours.
Dan was with me the whole time. He left me for just a few hours last night, and that's only because he needed to drop off my credit card with his brother and his brother's girlfriend, L. L and I planned to see New Moon last night at 11:59pm, but then my surgery was scheduled for the 18th, so obviously I wouldn't be able to go. She needed my card because I purchased the tickets online, and the theater needed my card to print out the tickets. But I wasn't alone, because Jason arrived at the hospital before Dan left and stayed until after Dan came back.
I'm so looking forward to getting a good night's sleep. I dozed this afternoon for about an hour, after a painful ride home and a very painful walk into the house. It's weird... I felt a little better this morning. But the ride in the car and the walk in the house did me in. I'm ashamed to admit that I burst into tears from the pain once I reached the bedroom. I did my best to calm down though, since Alyssa and Ryan wanted to see me (I can't believe how much I missed them! Alyssa made a get-well card that Jason gave to me, and I teared up when I looked over her adorable illustrations of us hugging each other), and then took an overdue dose of liquid Vicodin (such awesome stuff).
Now I just want to finish up this blog entry and take out my contacts. I plan on taking some more pain medicine and watching CSI until I fall asleep. I'll be able to rest up for as much and as long as I need, because Dan took off of work until November 29th, Jason has off next week and will come over to help out, and my mom said she could come stay with us next weekend to help.
I'll try and blog more details about pre-op and post-op tomorrow... right now I'm just feeling really sore, achy and fatigued. But I do want to say: thank you so much for the outpouring of support on my blog and on Twitter. It means a lot. I really appreciate knowing you guys are thinking about me and wishing me the best. I know this is a BIG decision that I made, and yes it's scary, partially because it's so final and pretty much not reversible, but I don't regret it. So again, thank you for the support. It's very comforting, encouraging and reassuring.
I've got something really big coming up. I've talked about it here and there over the past few days, but I still want to keep things on the down low until the Really Big Something has actually happened. Grr. Don't you hate that? You want to talk about something, but yet you don't. So then you're squirming and chomping at the bit with impatience, anxiety and excitement.
It's funny. For the past few weeks I've been bitching left and right about time going too slowly, that the Day of the Really Big Something would never get here. Now it's less than ten hours from happening, and suddenly I have twenty billion things I'd like to get done first. Not least of which is the sudden influx of work that a few companies heaped on me (thanks guys! Just in time for the Black Friday shopping I won't be doing, because there's no way in hell I'm venturing out that day.).
And speaking of Black Friday... I'm so happy! Dan and I figured out the rest of our Christmas shopping list. Now we just need to get the moolah together to buy everything, but still, determining what we're getting for everyone is always half the battle, so having it all figured out is well worth rejoicing over!
One of the sponsored blog companies I occasionally do posts for is PayPerPost 4.0 Alpha. Their setup is a little different than PayPerPost. With v4, bloggers set a price per word and per link. The platform spits out recommended amounts based on your blog (PageRank, Alexa rating, traffic, content, topic(s), etc.), but you're free to set your own price. By setting your own price, you ultimately decide how much you're paid for writing a sponsored post for an advertiser.
Another difference with v4 is that you don't have to worry about refreshing the dashboard looking for opportunities -- they come to you. Advertisers are able to sift through the various bloggers and send personal invitations inviting targeted bloggers to write about their products, services or whatever else it is they're wanting to promote.
Now, you'd think this is a good thing, right? For once you get to be paid per word and per link. Gone are the days of being paid $5 for a 300 word post with three links (not that I'd accept such a measly amount for such high requirements; by the way, that's what this blog entry is about -- I'll get to that in a paragraph or two). On the flip side, gone are the days of scoring the awesome $10, $15 and even $20 and $25 opps that only required 100-200 words and just one, sometimes two links.
The bad thing about v4 is that advertisers can supply their own requirements for written content. Typically advertisers use this area to request that a blogger writes the entire blog entry around a certain subject. In other instances the advertiser may ask the blogger to simply include the link. An advertiser may also use this section to request that a blogger include an image, or a certain keyword, or a certain blurb about the product/service/whatever.
Unfortunately, there are also advertisers that will use this requirements section to require a blogger to include extra links. And because the advertiser has the ability to ultimately approve or reject the submitted blog entry, they can essentially get extra links for free if they decide to be underhanded and do this.
On no less than five occasions I have outright refused to do a sponsored post because an advertiser would essentially pay me for 100 words and one link, but then specify in the requirements that I include 1-2 additional links. In another outrageous instance, an advertiser privately emailed me a long-ass Word document that outlined the 500+ word post I had to publish, along with three links and two images. Mind you, the invitation in v4.0 outlined and offered payment for 200 words and one link.
I really, REALLY fucking hate and loathe advertisers who try and do this shit. I can't fucking stand it. It's sneaky. It's underhanded. It completely disrespects ME as a blogger, and basically says that I am not worth being paid for X, Y and Z. I'm sorry, but my time, my creative energy and the space on my blog IS worth being paid for, which is why time and time again I have outright rejected $8 and $10 opportunities, because I'm not throwing in freebies. Bastards.
Ah Target, my favorite store. I was able to get one of Dan's Christmas presents from them this week, thanks to an awesome sale. And by awesome I mean a savings of $50. I had to take Dan to work this morning (tl;dr: forgotten, unpaid parking ticket from last spring turned into a suspended license that Dan found out about last night when he was pulled over. We went to the DMV today to find out the details, and will be paying the ticket and restoring his license tomorrow.), but since he was working a short shift it didn't make sense to go home, even though that's all I wanted to do -- go home and crash. So I ran over to Target, kept my coughing to a minimum and coughed in my sleeve when I couldn't hold back, used sanitizer to kill off germs before I spread them, and picked up said sale item. Last one on the shelf, too. I'm glad I didn't wait!
I'm so unhappy about being sick. I have a concert to attend with my mom on Saturday, and I wanted to see my dad while we're in Philadelphia. I also have some stuff going on next week that I'd rather not be sick for. Here's to hoping I can shake this crap by Saturday, and if nothing else by Monday or Tuesday!
I have the flu, and I am not happy about it. I went to my physician today, who took down my symptoms, took my temperature (100.8 at 2:00pm, ouch) and listened to my chest, then proclaimed that I have mild strain of the flu. He's not sure if it's swine or regular, but since the swine flu seems to be accompanied by vomiting, diarrhea, body aches (my chest, back and ribs hurt like a bitch, but that's from all of the violent coughing spasms), it's probably the regular flu. Since I didn't get checked out when symptoms initially set in -- last weekend, when I was running a fever and my throat felt weird -- it's too late for Tamiflu. So I get a morphine-containing cough syrup instead. Spiffy!
Today's DailyBooth. Appropriate, no?I am beyond miserable, and I just don't know what to do with myself. I have spent the day in bed, in the living room recliner, on the couch, back in bed again, back to the recliner, and now in the bedroom at my desk. I can't wait to shake this crap. I hate being sick. :(
Earlier today I tweeted a poorly worded message that gave probably half of my followers the wrong impression (note to self: including the word past probably would have made all the difference in the world). For the record: I am not pregnant. I have no desire or plan to be! And with everything that's going on, I think I'd shoot myself if a pee stick turned up positive.
But I am sick. I guess I forgot to knock on wood, because I woke up last Friday morning with an itchy throat. I ran fevers off and on all weekend, and what was an occasional throat-clearing has blossomed into a serious 24/7 cough fest. My abdominal muscles ache, my throat is raw, and I can't stop coughing. I'm sucking on cough drops like they're oxygen, and downing Dayquil every four to six hours. I have an appointment with my doctor tomorrow afternoon, and I'm taking Alyssa in on Thursday morning since she is still sick. Ryan sees the doctor right after her for his continuing bowel issues.
I've got some pretty cool product reviews to do. One is for Respiratory Guard, which if I may be perfectly honest, tastes like berry-flavored ass (yes, I plan on including that lovely description in the actual review. After all, I was asked by the company and the organizer of the review to be honest!). I also received a Disney Tabletop Christmas Tree. I know. Kick-ass, right? It's worth $199. When I showed it to Dan his response was, "Are you sure you didn't really buy that?" No, I really didn't buy it. It's pretty, and I'm sure well worth two hundred bucks, but it's not my kind of purchase to make. It is beautiful, however, and I can't wait to put it out when we decorate for Christmas!
I'm looking forward to Thursday: not the 8:00am and 8:15am appointments for the kids, but the midnight showing of 2012 that Jason, my mom and I are going to. Friday is payday, which means a grocery store and Target run to replenish on food and household goods. Saturday will be spent with my mom in Philadelphia. She wants to stop and visit with a woman she knows from a Yorkshire Terrier message board, I want to see my dad (I haven't seen him since last February!), and then we're going to see Mannheim Steam Roller at 8:00pm.
What are your plans for the week?
I kind of fell off the face of the blogging world for a few days there. Sucks, because I fully intended on participating in National Blog Posting Month -- on November 2nd, when I remembered about it. Sucks, but there's always next year, right?
I've been rather preoccupied with television lately. I'm usually not a TV person. I'll set our DVR to record shows or the occasional movie that catches my interest, but I won't get around to watching anything until weeks or months (yes, months) later. Case and point: this morning I finally got around to watching The Notebook. The DVR recorded it in August.
I really liked the movie, even though it was poignantly sweet and sad. I started tearing up towards the end, when Allie and Noah were having dinner together. When they were dancing and she suddenly forgot who she was and subsequently who Noah was, and was screaming and nurses came and Noah started crying, I seriously bawled. Dan was in the living room then and he was teary-eyed too. I can't imagine what it would be like to know that the love of your life doesn't know you, doesn't have any recollection of who you are, the memories you created, the things you did together. It must be so heartbreaking. Alzheimer's scares me. It's a disease I hope to never get, and I hope to God Daniel doesn't either. It's one thing to break down physically as you get older. But to lose your mental faculties, your memory? No thank you.
But if that were to happen to Dan, or to me, we swore we'd be there for one another, as heartbreaking as it would be. That's what love is about. It isn't the novelty and infatuation that initially brings couples together. I remember and wax nostalgia over the initial thrill I felt when Dan and I were first together. Our first flirt, first date, first touch (ask Dan about the first time we rode the log flume together...), first kiss, etc. That initial "spark" is gone, but, and excuse the mushiness, that spark set the fire ablaze, and nine years and a handful of months later it still burns strong. We know each other so well. Daniel is my best friend, my lover, my soul mate. I go to him for everything. He has my back and I have his. No matter what may be going on between us, petty squabbles or stupid arguments over stuff that means nothing at the end of the day, I love him, he loves me, and we have each other and would fight to the death for one another -- and for our children.
I love our relationship, how far we've come, what we've accomplished, and what we mean to one another. I love that we're still so in love with one another. The passion is there, but our relationship is about so much more than sex. We're intimate with one another in so many ways, far beyond sexual. We crave each other's company, and just enjoy being in the same room with one another. Going shopping for groceries, running errands, laying in bed together, cuddled under the sheets watching Hell's Kitchen or CSI (two other current obsessions of mine), running out for medicine or comfort food when the other is sick, just being with each other but not necessarily doing anything "exciting", like the kinds of "exciting" things couples in the dating and early relationship stages do.
I love our love. ♥
