Life as Jim and James has taken quite a turn since I last blogged on this site, having spent most of my time on limontella.com. Managing two blogs, I tend to forget about one of them, but when I do remember, and re-read things I've written, it's a nice trip down memory lane. So many changes in life, so many moves, so many dramatic events that have occurred in just a few years. The one constant that never changes, though, is me. My location has shifted, my relationship status has morphed into something no one could have predicted, but my thoughts continue to blend together like a protein shake being torpedoed in a Vitamix.
These days, I've been home recovering from hernia surgery and let's just say, it hasn't been the most pleasant of experiences. I've known since my Los Angeles days that I had one, but my doctor there never made a big deal out of it. In fact, he told me not to worry about it. That always sounded strange to me because of course, I always thought of it. Having one of your internal organs poking through a hole in your abdominal wall is just not a good image.
So, after visiting my no nonsense San Antonio doctor this year and the discovery of a second hernia on my left side, I decided, it was time to fix it all. Of course, it all had to wait until after my honeymoon in Paris.
"Don't get married," the surgeon said as he firmly and forcibly poked my naval area looking for a third hernia. "Where there's two, there's usually three."
"Oh, too late," I replied, grateful that the final number of hernias was capped at two. "We're going to Paris for our honeymoon this summer."
The doctor smiled slightly and told me to have a good time but not to wait to get the hernias fixed. I wasn't exactly looking forward to surgery, I mean, who really can say they do? The last time I was under anesthesia was back in 2004 when I was turning 40 and needed a tonsillectomy. I had a different life then. Living in San Francisco, no serious relationship, friends that were part of my circle, and most importantly, my mom was still with me.
And, of course, it's July - the month I lost my mom four years ago, and that always makes me reflective. Add that to being on painkillers and attempting to sit and stand on my own, and it's been a hell of a post honeymoon. Before the anesthesiologist put me under, we were talking about our mutual love of a Mexican restaurant in town and the potent margaritas they concoct. Next thing I knew I was saying hi multiple times to my husband John - and when I mention multiple times, I mean MULTIPLE times.
The pain hadn't hit me yet, but as I slowly tried to fully wake up, it wasn't long until it made its presence known. Getting the opioids to make the pain go away, though was the best part of my day.
I'm quite the site to behold these days. I've finally stopped looking six months pregnant, which is probably a good thing since I live in Texas now and that could cause some serious issues if I'm seen out in public. I haven't however, lost all the baby weight so as I sit here and pop more tramadol, I can't help but review life.
Coming off an incredible two weeks in France to have my abdomen laparoscopied was something I was anticipating but it doesn't make the recovery any easier. Writing helps clear my head, thinking of my life now and how John is here to help me recuperate is something out of storybook, but I somehow feel useless as I maneuver from couch to bed, clinging onto walls and furniture so I don't find myself on our new tiled floors like I was in a bad 80's 911 commercial. From the minute I landed in San Antonio, life has been different. And, that's different in a good way. I told my good friend, Holli, that when I left Los Angeles I was finally running towards something and not from it. That has never wavered.
Yet, I don't think John was prepared for what kind of patient I am. After all, when I was younger and living in Boston, my mom would come to my apartment, cook me breakfast and lunch and make my bed for me. She'd sit for hours before she went back home. No matter if I am sick or not, one thing John does not do is make the bed.
So here I sit in a newly remodeled house, listing to the continuing construction in the back of the house as we add more square footage - unable to really put the place together since I'm forbidden to lift anything over three pounds. For the next two weeks, until I am fully mobile, I will try and think of what's next. My career isn't what it used to be, but my life is better. Sometimes I think that's a good trade off, while other times I wonder what did all those years working where I did accomplish?
I'll admit I was a bit nervous going under the anesthesia. What if I didn't wake up? Would I even know I never did? I most likely pushed that out my mind and just concentrated on having that margarita. You face mortality every day, but especially when events happen like losing your mother and going to sleep while a doctor you've met only once cuts you open and fixes what's broken. Oh yes, and then there's that shooting incident that I tend to make light of because no one likes to talk about it. Of course, I'm happy to say, life continues. With all of its questions and hopefully, I'll find some answers. One thing for sure is that I'm still not well enough to have tequila, but you can bet that when I am, I will be having more than one.
