First full day home and I’m continuing to do just fine. I think the only thing I miss about the hospital is the bed – not because of its superior tempurpedic qualities, but because its bendy-ness is fan

Rocking crutches at the hospital

tastic when your resting positions (and ability to get there) are limited. Yeah, sleeping on a conventional bed last night was rough. But there’s only so much you can do when you’re confined to sleeping on your back (and can’t cross your legs over your midline, so no interesting twisty stuff or anything). The way I see it, I have three choices for sleeping positions: looking straight ahead, turning my head to the left and turning my head to the right. I’m going to have to start getting creative with pillows.

The other thing that’s different about being home is mirrors. There aren’t a whole lot of mirrors in hospitals, and I believe that’s intentional. Get home, however, and there’s nowhere to hide. And I’m not even talking about my didn’t-get-washed-in-days hair, or the lovely yellowish cast to my skin when I wake up (which is a lot, because I sleep most of the time). Or the fact that they apparently used adhesive ALL OVER my body. And I’m not going into the excessive body art that my doctors felt compelled to create on the canvas of my leg and backside (I’ll just add that I’m pretty sure it’s beyond initials. Maybe a coded map. Or gang signs, I don’t know). No, here’s today’s entertainment: my butt. To be fair, we were warned that the swelling would be greater this time, but holy bountiful booty, Batman! Initially when it started yesterday, Rich and I just stood in the bathroom and and observed it with a sort of reverence. “This is what I would look like with hips.” Yes, but it didn’t stop there, and as the swelling continued to spread up my back and down my legs, the thought came – what on earth am I going to wear for pajamas? After gutting our closet, Rich was able to produce an old pair of sleep shorts with shot elastic, so in the end (ooh, bad pun) I did have something in which to sleep. But not without quite a lot of giggling. And in case you’re curious, yes, there does exist a point where this won’t be funny anymore, but considering that I’m not close to going out in public yet, my J Lo-ness might as well entertain us.

I think for the most part Rich is managing the whole taking care of me thing admirably. Last time, my parents were here to help out, but due to nonrefundable airline tickets, they won’t be here till Wednesday, so Rich is on his own. Like I said, he’s doing really well keeping up with the meds schedule, PT, food, kids and dogs. Because he’s trying to do so much, I try to go easy on him, but I do have my high maintenance moments. Take, for instance, the magazine in our bathroom. We have a magazine rack in front of our toilet, which I don’t usually pay attention to, but given the tortoise-like speed at which I am moving right now I notice everything – including the issue of our health club’s magazine front and center in the rack. And the guy on the cover is looking at me. Me, in all my doctor-tattooed, Kim Kardashain glory. The front of the magazine exults, “Be 10% Happier!” But honestly, how can I be 10% happier with some strange man watching me use the facilities? So I had to ask Rich to move him. High maintenance, I tell you. Or, given the painkillers, maybe we just leave it at high. Who knows.

So that’s it for today. Every day gets a little better, a little easier. And being confined to bed could be very lonely, but Rich and the kids have been so sweet about keeping me company, and I’ve been loving the texts, calls and emails, so I’m fine hanging out up here. Thanks again, mighty village! You all rock. Oh, and I’m including a picture from the hospital. Pre-swelling, of course. This is a G-rated blog, people.