Thursday, 11 February 2016

Hurt...

Words from a Bird.  Day 43.

Today, the phrase, 'Woman, know your limits' could not be more perfect.  Having taken 45 minutes to crawl out of bed this morning, I am beginning to realise that Wonder Woman I am not.  The husband had to help me and at one point was threatening me with a forklift. The only thing that made me think he might be joking was the fact that he would have had to get it upstairs.  Mind you, seeing what he has done over the years, I would put nothing past him, so I did my best slug impersonation, dragging myself across the mattress, my nails clawing into the fitted sheet until gravity kicked in, rendering me upright of sorts.

The pain of a broken rib is quite peculiar, in that it is the very simplest of things that you do which cause the greatest pain, like breathing.  I have given up on talking as much as usual (it must be quite noticeable, as the husband has stopped using earplugs while I am around) and shouting is a complete no-no.  To this end, the husband has brought me a bell to ring if I need anything.  Now this is a temptation, as I haven't lost my sense of humour.  I can see many opportunities over the next few days where I could get him at it, but I am going to try and resist as if it wasn't for him, I'd still be lying face down on the bed at 7.00pm sobbing into the memory foam...

The hospital have given me a couple of different meds for the pain.  The first is Co-Codamol, which for some poor folk can mean constipation.  The second is Diazepam which makes me feel as high as a kite.

So the situation I find myself in is that if I take the Diazepam first, then I don't give a s**t about not being able to have a s**t...

However, if I take the Co-Codamol first, the Diazepam will ensure that I won't remember even if I have had one.

Happy days...

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