Grist for the Mill

So Monday I returned to work after my surgery.

Monday night I came home and fell over.

Tuesday by ten o’clock I’d realized there was no way it was gonna work at eight hour days, and I’m lucky enough to have both leftover sick time and an excellent (and available!) substitute, so I fixed it so I’d work half-days all week.

I’m still pretty dang tired. I come home at 12:30 or so, fall over for a couple hours, then wake up and try to figure out how to get my brain to come back.

Walking happens at about a fourth of my usual speed. I have to remind myself not to jump up and get stuff off the printer, not to twist in my chair, not to do a hundred and one things I’m used to doing, because I have to hoard my energy to get through till twelve o’clock. And I think how lucky I am that it’s not permanent. And then I think how useful it is for story research.

I’ve always tried to be medically accurate in my writing. I know that shoulders aren’t really great places to stop a bullet. I know that major injuries take time to heal. I don’t think I ever quite appreciated the weakening factor, though.

For ten years, I’ve done my job a certain way. Now, if I move at that rate, do everything the way I’d normally do, in an hour I’m tired. In two hours I’ll be sitting at my desk, nothing but decorative, because all I can possibly do is think how I hurt and I want to sleep.

It’s been kind of an eye-opener. I tell myself it’s good for me, as I head back to bed for the third time in twenty-four hours.

And then I’m really grateful that this too shall pass.