Surgical Recovery is Such Sweet Sorrow

In case you missed it, I recently had surgery for my second hernia. I’m now on Day 5 and it’s better … ish.

Three days ago, it felt like someone had kicked me, hard, in the right testicle. There’s bruising (now turning a lovely shade of putrid yellow) that could extend halfway down my thigh, if Dr. Martin is correct. I’ve got a rather nasty gash where the work was done, quite a bit different than the laparoscopy I had the first time; I need to ask about that when I get my follow-up. I have watched altogether too much Netflix, but it has been enjoyable. (Though watching the end of Taskmaster Series 15 followed by the Champion of Champions 3 episode last night was not a wise idea.) Monkey has been avoiding me as she has a cold and the last thing I need is to sneeze.

Today, I decided to finally get out of the house for a short walk. Maybe 500 metres, all told, on relatively flat ground (a notable point, as I live on a hill), and perhaps my my wisest move. It now hurts a lot more than I thought it would, and I’m pretty sure it’s not because I’m out of shape.

I need to remind myself that I’m 51, not 39, and I don’t recover as quickly, anymore. But patience has never been my strong point.

Back to the TV…

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