And thank goodness. Today was the first day since I got my tonsils removed on June 17 that I actually felt better than the day before, and by a whole bunch. I slept through the night for the first time. I got up really sore, but drinking water and eating jello got me rolling. I decided I was tired of starving, so I made pork roast, new potatoes and peas for noon lunch and forced down a full plate. Every swallow was arduous, but having food in my stomach felt so good. 


I quit the hydrocodone, which I guess is considered a narcotic. My dreams got so very dark and strange. I remember the same thing with the pain killer I took after a previous surgery. The mental impact was not worth the pain reduction benefit. 


Today, I can feel the stitches start to loosen. So, one week really under the weather isn't so bad. I really gain an appreciation for people who are fighting cancer, in particular, where the treatment itself causes pain and goes on for months and months. I am not sure how I would handle that mentally. 


It was only in the past three days that the pain went down enough for me to read. I read a good book, Dry, by Augusten Burroughs yesterday, finishing it this morning. It is a memoir of a rich, successful 24-year-old Manhattan alcoholic who enters rehab in Minnesota. The reviews cite the book's humor. I didn't find the book funny in the least, but then I am not interested in ironic hipster humor. Ever. Yet, it is a strong memoir, even as the author comes across as utterly lost in his shallowness. He is not somebody I would want to know or even meet, yet, hearing his thought processes gives me insight into the addicts I have come across in my own life.


Above all, the book reminded me of how enmeshed I am in roots. For better or worse, I am rooted.


And thank goodness. Today was the first day since I got my tonsils removed on June 17 that I actually felt better than the day before, and by a whole bunch. I slept through the night for the first time. I got up really sore, but drinking water and eating jello got me rolling. I decided I was tired of starving, so I made pork roast, new potatoes and peas for noon lunch and forced down a full plate. Every swallow was arduous, but having food in my stomach felt so good. 

I quit the hydrocodone, which I guess is considered a narcotic. My dreams got so very dark and strange. I remember the same thing with the pain killer I took after a previous surgery. The mental impact was not worth the pain reduction benefit. 

Today, I can feel the stitches start to loosen. So, one week really under the weather isn't so bad. I really gain an appreciation for people who are fighting cancer, in particular, where the treatment itself causes pain and goes on for months and months. I am not sure how I would handle that mentally. 

It was only in the past three days that the pain went down enough for me to read. I read a good book, Dry, by Augusten Burroughs yesterday, finishing it this morning. It is a memoir of a rich, successful 24-year-old Manhattan alcoholic who enters rehab in Minnesota. The reviews cite the book's humor. I didn't find the book funny in the least, but then I am not interested in ironic hipster humor. Ever. Yet, it is a strong memoir, even as the author comes across as utterly lost in his shallowness. He is not somebody I would want to know or even meet, yet, hearing his thought processes gives me insight into the addicts I have come across in my own life.

Above all, the book reminded me of how enmeshed I am in roots. For better or worse, I am rooted.