Today marks one week since I went into the hospital on January 8 to have a few things removed that didn’t belong in my body and had begun squashing the things that did. I’ve been home for four days.
I feel like I’ve been stepped on by an elephant.
I look like Nick Nolte’s mug shot.
The anesthesiologist had all kinds of trouble with the breathing tube, so for several days, every time I spoke I sounded like Mr. Toad on his wild ride.
My arms look like I’ve spend the past year shooting up under a bridge with the other street people.
Every time I cough it’s like Joe Frazier punched me in the gut.
I walk like Tim Conway’s little old man. I try to get up and move as often as I can, but after fifteen or twenty minutes of walking I need a two hour nap.
My belly looks like Freddie Kruger carved his initials in it.
The surgeon removed what he called a “large undifferentiated uterine mass.” The problem is most likely genetic. Both my sisters have had said “undifferentiated tumors” removed from various endocrine-related areas of their bodies. I have a niece who barely has an intact endocrine gland left. I gather that “Undifferentiated” indicates a tumor is probably benign. The doctor’s office called my husband with the lab results on Monday. The tumor was NOT cancerous.
I feel fine.