I'm back home from my surgery and doing very well. I won't know until my post op visit how much my fibroid laden uterus weighed, but my surgeon said it was the same size as a woman who has been pregnant for 20 weeks. I looked it up. It's the size of a canteloupe. Good gravy!! No wonder I was miserable. Hopefully that will help shed a few pounds and give me the energy I need to resume regular exercise.
For now it's do nothing but walk. Don't bend, twist, jerk, lift, wash, dry, turn, boogie, or do the hokey pokey. I can walk. That's it. As long as I can tolerate. The more the better. It will help my insides resume regularity. Damn, I was looking to doing the shimmy shimmy shake once I was out of the hospital, because I feel good in a James Brown kind of way.
I will be able to drive after a week, though. Which means I can get out of the house as long as I can tolerate and visit my LYS's and work on the Sirdal. I finished one sleeve and cast on the body while on Oxycodone. Thank heavens for markers because after 50 stitches I was losing count and the puppy is 313 stitches of cast on. This morning I worked a row while not on narcotics and found I was off one stitch. HAhahahahaaaa!
I learned this morning that Molly Ivins died from breast cancer. I love her acerbic wit and descriptions of the Texas "Lege". I figure she's up in a corner of the Great Beyond sharing good ol' boy stories with Ann Richards, Mickey Leland, and John Henry Faulk. She'll be missed by us liberals. If you haven't experienced her writing, start with her first book, Molly Ivins Can't Say That, Can She? Here's a Lone Star raised to you, Molly. Give 'em hell.