I went in for foot surgery a week and a half ago. It sucked, to be blunt. I had it done Friday morning, and filled up my Saturday with plans, thinking that I would bounce right back and be feeling great (albeit on crutches). Wrong. I won’t go into too many details, but I’ll just say that the pain meds took a long time to kick in and when they did, they made me nauseated, so I spent the day quite ill and feeling awful. I didn’t get back on my feet, so to speak, until Tuesday, when I ventured out into the world and back to work. Trying to do anything on crutches is highly inconvenient, and I don’t recommend it.
Cullen, bless his heart, was amazing all weekend, and I don’t know what I would have done without him. He took Friday off work, stayed up two nights with me rubbing my head as I moaned and cried, slept on a small armchair next to me downstairs, and carried me to the bathroom when I had to throw up. Definitely not a romantic weekend for us, but love is the good and the bad, and he got me through the bad.
Each day gets better. I got rid of the crutches (not exactly doctor’s orders, but, you know…) and even though I’m limping terribly and wearing a walking cast, I’m being very productive at work and in my social life.
I ache for running. I miss the trails, I miss just being able to go anywhere swiftly and not think about walking in a manner that doesn’t bend my broken foot.
But all in all, I can’t complain. I’m still a very healthy girl, and in a few months this will all be a memory that I probably won’t visit very often.