Bathing is, at least, something to break up the monotony of a day on the couch. The cats like it too. Mouse sits on the toilet seat and peers at me as though he can't quite understand what I'm doing lying down in a tub full of warm water. Then he taps his paw against the shampoo bottle till it falls into the tub and he jumps away from the splash, pleased with himself. Kitty Girl is more sceptical of the whole operation and watches guardedly from the bathroom doorway. She is not going anywhere near you insane creatures who like to submerge yourselves in water.
I've used up all the bath salts that were lingering around the bathroom shelves for months or even years, and the bath oil that I purchased a small bottle of three years ago. Who takes baths, after all? They are, for some reason, a luxury. But not being able to shower standing up has turned them into a necessity. And I welcome the excuse.
I am feeling not as dark as yesterday. My father, who fancies himself a follower of natural medicine, prescribed to me three remedies: homeopathic arnica, to bring down the swelling and bruising, fish oil (6000 mg/day) to keep from clotting and to lessing inflammation, and vitamin D 3, for what he calls "the sads." It all seems to be working. I can wiggle my toes and there is extra room inside the cast now, instead of being all filled up with swollen foot meat. However, even though I'm feeling better, it's not as hopeful as it might be, because surgery will put me back to square one as far as recovery/healing goes. So the important thing in the meantime is not to succumb to the dark forces of lethargy, ennui, and depression.
This whole situation is creating some strain on my marriage. My poor husband now has to take care of 100% of the household tasks, as well as the little personal things I can't do for myself, like carry anything from room to room, get up to switch the stereo to CD mode, or put clothing into drawers or in closets. It's twice as frustrating for me, because contrary to popular belief, I don't LIKE being waited on hand and foot. I have been accused of being a princess before but this is proof that really I'm just a peasant with noble and/or artisanal aspirations. A true princess would accept the service as her due. Me, I am just restless and annoyed. I hate asking for things.
However, Tom and I came up with a game to help remedy this situation. He stands in the room and I tell him exactly what to do, in what order. Put this bag into the bottom drawer and then close the drawer. When you're done with that, take this mug, that wine glass, and this piece of orange peel into the kitchen. Wash the mug and glass and throw away the orange peel and then come back in here. Get me the clipboard, it's on my desk under the pile of papers and then clip this paper onto it. Go into the closet, get out my jacket, and in the jacket pocket you will find another piece of paper...
And so on. Tom likes it because he doesn't have to think or make decisions, and I like it because I can clean the room without getting up from the couch.
9 more days till surgery.
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