a toast to convalescence

Toast plate by Charlotte Mei on Etsy.

So who hasn't seen (and most likely favourited) Charlotte Mei's toast plate already?  I think hardly a week goes by where this little beauty doesn't pop up in my etsy activity feed somewhere.  Still, it is the perfect lovely picture to steal for this 5am blogging malarkey, whether it's new to you or not.  You can't deny it's pretty, even if you have already seen it a million and one times.  And it's totally relevant because I'm sitting here eating toast with lashings of butter and getting crumbs all over Graham's keyboard (don't tell) while guzzling paracetamol.  Well, when I say "guzzling", what I really mean is swallowing the maximum dose of two in a slightly frenzied manner.  (Don't panic!)

I've been in hospital this week for a "minor" surgical procedure.  While I am sad and sore and sorry, I have to admit that this is all far more bearable than the months of having it hanging over me while I waited for my appointment.  I am doing OK, recovery wise, but am finding it hard to sleep.  Lying down seems to make it all more painful and I can only lie in one not particularly comfortable position.  Plus that baby is pestering me, not understanding that I might need more than my allotted 20cm of bed space for a week or two at least.  After two hours of sleepless clock watching, I decided to get up for toast and paracetamol.

But what to do now?  I have to admit I was vaguely looking forward to this convalescence time.  My mum is here taking care of Dulcie (and me) as I'm not allowed to lift her (or anything else) for 4-6 weeks and I naively thought I'd be sitting crocheting or reading my book or doing a spot of embroidery.  In reality, the sad-sore-sorriness has been too much for any of that.  Maybe today will be the day.  I am feeling better all the time.

Even though I have been strictly instructed not to do "anything more strenuous than making a cup of tea" for a fortnight or so, I still feel guilty for mooching around while my mum (and dad and Graham) cooks and cleans and baby wrangles.  And it is so hard to be around Dulcie but not really be able to look after her.  Even though other trusted people are watching her all the time, I can't relax when she is in the same room as a hot drink, sharp edge or dangerous precipice (we're having stair gate issues...) knowing that I'm not able to fly across the room and grab her.  And when she does fall over and bump her head (which she does a lot) it feels horrible not to be able to just pick her up and give her a cuddle.  I am managing to play with her on the floor and read her stories and even breastfeed her (with embarrassing assistance) but it's not quite the same as being her go-to girl.  I kind of wish I could switch her off and put her in a drawer for a couple of weeks.  My mum is being very understanding, taking Dulcie out for long walks in the pram, come hell or high hailstones, so that I can get time to relax properly.  I'm thinking maybe I should take myself off to the cinema some afternoon and convalesce there, in the dark, but is it OK to hang out in the cinema when you're off work sick?  I don't know.  I think part of the problem is that, at times like this, I'd ordinarily want my own dark space to get used to things in.  That's just not possible with Dulcie in tow.  I guess I need to suck it up and thank my lucky stars that I do have people willing to take up my slack when I need them to, even if I would rather not have witnesses to my strange-smelling slowness.  (I am reminding myself of the poor cats when they came back from the vet's having had their ovaries disconnected, though my surgery was nothing so intrusive and I probably do them a disservice to compare.)

I wish convalescence was more of a "thing", like it was in the olden days when people got sent to the Alps  for some good air.  Modern convalescence seems to consist of getting a sore bum while moaning about the state of daytime telly.  Yawn.