post op, cabin fever, and waddling santa penguins

I generally believe that no matter what, Conan O'Brien can make everything better. Everything but this. I discovered last night during his show that laughter = ouch.

I had an open inguinal hernia repair on Friday:  we sliced a nice 3 inch gash into my abdomen to fix a hole that had torn open on my lower abdominal wall.  Some repairs are done laproscopically and I could have skipped the hardcore recovery and scar, but evidently, women and hernias are rare and it is important to repair them firmly without chance of re-tearing since there's that whole potential for child-bearing thing, etc.  Also requiring more caution and recovery time is the fact that we didn't go the usual mesh repair route due to the location of the female reproductive system.  Strike two against womankind.  It seems we would have started a war with my ovaries, et al by suffocating them with mesh.  Soooo, stitches through and through, which would make me nervous if not for the awesome reputation of my surgeon.  I'm certain he done me good.

Rumor has it that I jibber jabbered chaotically under the anesthesia until I closed my eyes, and when I woke up, I was declaring that we needed to go and "rescue the dogs."  Typical.

In the weeks leading up to the surgery, I named my hernia Frank. The idea of a hole in my abdomen was too sci-fi ala "Spaceballs" for me, so personifying the situation was better for my sanity.  My plans fully revolved around Frank and his needs since mid-October:  "Can't stay out too late, guys, Frank needs to hit the hay," and "Frank doesn't want that for dinner tonight."  He's throwing a bit of a tantrum at the moment, but he'll settle down soon and peace will resume within my abdominal walls.

Where did Frank come from? Who knows. I was in the middle of training for a half marathon (and rockin' the training, I might add), when he made his appearance. My surgeon says I likely had a small tear already and running exacerbated it. He also said in the cases where women get hernias, they are usually born with the susceptibility to have them, so there we have it, straight from the good doctor: I was born holy.

Anyway, the countdown is on:

8 more days until I can drive (apparently driving uses stomach muscles?), 2 more weeks until limited activity (aka driving and getting around), and 6 more weeks until full recovery (aka lifting 90875489156 tons of steel with my bare hands).

And so, with the thick of mad cabin fever setting in, I present to you some South Korean Santa penguins to help spread the holiday cheer*:





*We'll pretend for today that nothing weird and war-like is going on between NoKo and Soko.


Frank-less with cabin fever,
Katertot