My unlucky housemates

I am putting my granny panties to full use these days. I hike 'em up to my waist (or, where a waist should be) and they cover my stapled mid-section quite nicely. I feel things sort of need to be "held in", and by golly, I hold 'em in.

The incision stings, particularly at one point where the skin is not quite rejoined (at my tummy roll - see, I told the doc the roll would present trouble but he ignored me!). Now, more than ever, I wish I had flat abs. This roll is trouble with a capital T!

I'm getting around like a old man with arthritis. I stagger half-erect in Matt's robe, barking things like, "Get that damn Jello away from me!" and "Your stupid dog pooped on my carpet!" (My mother keeps making me JELLO of all things, and to make things fair, her dog DID poop on my already stain-riddled carpet. A person who spent time in a hospital on a clear liquid diet loathes Jello.)

Last night at 3 pm I started coughing. Coughing makes my insides feel like little explosions and I grabbed my abdomen, holding tightly, hoping the staples wouldn't pop out. I told Matt to please get me some water. He looks into our bathroom and says, "There are no glasses." And he's just standing there, like a goofball as my innards are bouncing around and I'm groaning in agony. So, I said what any reasonable person in pain would say: "WHERE DO YOU THINK THERE ARE GLASSES, MATT, UH, UHHH, COME ON, WHERE DO (COUGH) THINK, UHHH? GO TO THE DAMN KITCHEN (COUGH) OR I SWEAR TO GOD (COUGH COUGH)...." So the poor boy booked it downstairs for some water and came back up with a tall glass of the stuff, to which I tried to drink and promptly spilled all the contents on the mattress as I could hardly raise my body in my stapled state. "I NEED A (COUGH) DAMN STRAW YOU MONKEY!"

So that's how it pretty much is these days. I am a lovely house companion, and my mom and Matt mostly move out of the way when they see my shadow stumbling their way. Speaking of, someone get me my Percocet!