As far as writing goes, I haven’t felt particularly inspired lately. Even the few things I’ve jotted down feel forced and recycled. Since my surgery three weeks ago, I’ve put on at least 30 lbs. and at least 10” around my waist. I look like a pregnant man with toothpick arms and legs. My legs and arms can barely pull me up from a seated position. But once I’m up, I’m usually okay, if I take my time.
I’m usually good at adapting to new realities, but this one is pushing my limits. I guess the part that’s beating me up is the not knowing. During my post-op exam, the surgeon was nonchalant about my concerns, saying it would go away in a few weeks. Well, it’s been a few weeks and it’s only gotten worse. So what do you do? My next PCP appointment isn’t till late Monday afternoon. And my follow-up with my gastroenterologist isn’t for a month. So I sit here, way too uncomfortable to sleep. Defecating on myself over and over again. Asking questions without getting any answers. Seemingly the only adult in the room, with a herd of cats that can’t get their shit together.