It's come to my attention that perhaps I haven't been as clear as I could about what "I recovered so fast my transplant coordinator couldn't believe it" means.
One of my correspondents, hearing I'd been at work all last week, was unsurprised at the fact I put nearly 40 hours in and instead wanted to know "You mean she's driving herself there? She can pick up her feet and put them on the pedals?"
Actually, I could pick up my feet and go up and down stairs as often as I liked the day I arrived home -- a far cry from having thought prior to surgery I might have to rent a "commode" for our main floor. (The thought of having to ask Randy to empty that out made me vow that I'd CRAWL upstairs if need be.)
Since then, it's pretty much been all uphill. I went to Target to clearance-clothes shop the Saturday after the Tuesday I got home from the hospital and managed, though trembling toward the end, to put in a good hour and a half of hiking back and forth from the racks to the changing room, carrying clothing around and trying it on.
The day the above query came in was this past Saturday, 3 weeks and a couple days after my surgery. I'd gotten some 11-12 hours of sleep, catching up from the workweek, and early in the afternoon, my "activity supervisor" had gone to bed with a migraine.
This left me a free agent. I took the opportunity to:
1. Shovel the snow off the porch and porch steps with a dustpan (I at least realized I couldn't lift the garage door to get a shovel. It has what our realtor described as "an Armstrong opener.")
2. Remove and wash the furniture covers and the smaller rugs in the living room. All our furniture has removable, washable covers, thanks to the dogs. This took 6 loads.
3. Vacuum rugs on the main floor and 3-season porch about three times in all, before and after after brushing Arm & Hammer "Pet Fresh" into them.
4. Wash the dining-room floor on my hands and knees.
I actually survived better than the vacuum did; on its third or fourth course through the porch, years of fighting setter hair, thread and rug fibers finally took their toll, and it seized up completely. Randy, awakening at this moment, said the beater-bar ends had shifted in their sockets, so we're hoping a new beater bar will keep us in the fur-removal business a while longer.
Hey! Just thought of it -- a vacuum-cleaner organ transplant!
