Well I guess the fact that I went back to work today means that I am on the mend. Parts of me would like to disagree however. I still feel like I’m sitting on a sponge at times. My surgeon has assured me that “everything down there looks exactly the way it’s supposed to” This, coming from a man who spends his days staring at girly bits should reassure me, however I’m still not convinced. I think its still part of the swelling thing I’m going through. The belly has settled a bit. I am starting to have more good days than ballooned ones.
And I am happy that the pathology cleared me of the big C. And confirmed that I did the right thing removing the old baby carriage and accessories.
And today was the day. Work. Well.. I went there. I was not a happy camper at 6:15am this morning when I was woken up by hubs who was poking me from a distance, with his feet pointed firmly in the direction of the door in case I went on the attack. It took me another 15 minutes to actually get myself into a sitting position and then I had 30 minutes to have a shower, try to swallow 5 horse tablets and an Up n Go Breakfast drink and get ready for work.
All of this was achieved amidst some unintelligible snarling from me when hubby dared to ask me if I was going to be much longer.
After 20 minutes I was standing in the bathroom taking one last look at my hair, which I cut two weeks ago and now have no idea what to do with, and decided that my pseudo indie bed head look would be just fine. I dragged some mascara across my pathetic stumpy blonde eyelashes and shoved on my glasses and stomped out to the car, where I stood, in the freezing cold for exactly 3 minutes and 22 seconds until my genius husband remembered he hadn’t unlocked it yet.
The drive up to work was frosty.. and not just because of the temperature. I was still suffering bed lag, as I have decided to call it, having spent the best part of the last 8 weeks getting up at least 3 hours later than I did today. At one point I think I muttered outloud, “kill me”. Hubs reply, if he had one, was silent, fortunately for him.
Sadly, nothing had changed. I still had to smile and be pleasant on the phone. I still had to deal with the ongoing onslaught of applicants coming in for group interviews that cannot understand the phrase, “please sign in next to your name on this sheet (whilst I point at said sheet) and then please write your first name on the label and wear it as a name tag (whilst indicating said sticky label and felt tip pen) and then watching them write their name on the bottom of the printed name list (where their name is clearly listed) and then write their full name on the sticker with the ball point pen. I was lucky today. Everybody wrote their name in the right direction on the sticky label… that’s a whole other story which I will tell one day.
The positives of the day were, being told how much I was missed. How well I looked (liars – can you see the bags under my eyes because I got up at sparrow fart?). How much my hair suited me (so I surmised I looked like shit with appalling hair). And that they were happy I was back (at least some of us were happy).
I have a sore face from smiling and I am refusing to speak right now because I had to talk all morning to people on the phone. And I’m so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open (I may have nodded off mid sentence a couple of times while typing this) Thank god I was only there for 5 hours.
It just occurred to me I have to put myself through this again tomorrow.
I am now going to go chug a beer.
And follow it up with a vodka shot.
Because I have to do it again tomorrow.