I got out of the shower this morning and put the towel around my head turban-style, just like I did everyday before alien-removal.
Not because I had any hair up there that needed a towel around it, but just because wrapping a towel around my head when I got out of the shower felt normal.
Same ol' same ol'.
And for a moment, I almost felt like things were normal...despite the fact that I was stepping out of a shower where I had to sit down on a bath chair and use a shower wand like a little old lady.
And then, I got dressed, put on my hot pink wig (sent by my dear friend, Erica) and went down to breakfast.
Because, shoot, if you can't have fun after brain surgery, when can you have fun??
Which leads me to today's topic: Pep Talks.
Here are some of the funny quirks/side effects of brain surgery and the talks that I have with myself about them. I figure if Dr. Brains was literally inside my brain, you all would like a quick look inside too.
Quirk #1: When I first got out of surgery, my sense of taste was non-existent. Pretty much, eating anything was like eating sand. Yum. Thankfully, this sense has come back quite a bit, but we still have room for improvement and salt is my friend.
Dear Taste Buds,
Please start doing your job again, because eating is pretty much essential to the rest of my life. And I would like to enjoy eating. There are some really good foods out there--I will bring them to you if you promise to let me taste them to the fullest. And my arteries would appreciate a little less salt in their lives. Go team.
Quirk #2: My hair has started to grow back in some, but it's coming in wicked dark. I've always been a mouse-brown-hair kinda girl, but now I might be a full on brunette. The jury is still out on whether or not I like this development.
Thank you for coming back. You have been missed. If you could speed up your growth just a bit so that I have some hair for my brother's wedding in the spring, that would be fabulous. Also, if you are going to be dark, that's fine, but there better not be any grays or I will override your new found color. Just sayin'. Go team. P.S. I know Dr. Brains cut you a little unevenly--he might be able to do brain surgery, but no one should have trust him to cut you--and I promise that as you get longer, I will make sure you don't grow into a full-blown sideways mullet like you are trending towards now.
Quirk #3: Apparently now I'm a clean freak??? Dr. C thinks this quirk is lovely. I hope it is a random side-effect that will go away and I can once again handle a general level of clutter, because, dude, I have 3 kids! Who has time to be a clean freak when you have 3 kids?!?
Dear OCD Personality:
Where did you come from? Please tone it down. I like my house clean, but feeling unsettled when there is a stack of clutter on the counter is NOT OKAY. Feel free to only reappear during spring cleaning, fall cleaning and when people are coming to visit. Go team.
Quirk #4: The need for sleep is constant yet the ability to sleep deeply is elusive. Although last night, for the first time since Sept. 12th, I slept for almost SEVEN hours. Holla! This is BIG news and cause for celebration--let's put it on the same level of celebrating as the first time a baby sleeps through the night. But then I haven't napped very well today, which figures.
Dear Sleep Cycles:
Get your butt in gear. Sleep at night. Take good naps during the day. 'Nuff said. Go team.
Quirk #5: My left wrist feels old. They put an arterial line (like an IV only instead of in the vein, it's in the artery) in that wrist and the doctor said they must have nicked a nerve in there somewhere when they put the line in. And the only way to describe it is that it feels old and slow and ache-y.
Dear Left Wrist:
I know I have probably neglected you, being right-handed and all, but I really do love you and want you to work well. I promise to take care of you in the future. If you would heal quickly, that would be great. Go team.
Quirk #6: My left side in general is still having some serious issues. It feels slow and thick and cold and unattached. It's as if someone split my body in two and told the left half to do it's own thing. Particularly my left leg. I can watch something touch my left leg, and then a few moments later, I can feel it.
Weirdest. Sensation. Ever.
Dear Left Side:
Thanks for being able to move. We have already had many talks. And I know you are trying hard. But we've got to do more. I'd like to walk normally again and not need my little old lady walker. I'd like to be able to feel when my children climb up into my lap. I'd like to be able to run again. I know it's hard and you're doing your best, but we've got to do a bit more. Keep up the good work--you do your part and I'll do mine.
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