A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned that I had a knot in my belly. One person responded. So I went to google, my fateful friend and came up with ‘hernia’. Most likely from the C Section. The doctors claimed that usually that doctor sewed the muscles back together, but, well, I don’t have my medical records and they didn’t offer to check. Apparently a small percentage of abdominal surgeries do herniate near the incision.
So I finally called a doctor yesterday and will get in to be poked at on the 17th. Then I get my crown for my root canal on the 19th. Assuming I will have further tests that need done for the possible hernia, that flattens that week and makes me a very cranky person. Especially when I’m probably looking at another operation. That makes 3 in less than five years, 2 in less than one year. What about Keeley? Will I have to wait until I’m done nursing so it doesn’t affect her? Will I be able to pick up my 20 lb sack of potatoes every 10 minutes like she wants? Change her diaper, get down on the floor and play with her? There is NO ONE to help me. No one. My husband has to work. Our parents have to work. I have no friends within a 2 hour radius, and all of my friends work and/or have kids. This SUCKS. Argh. Why me? Couldn’t some other person who has a husband who works from home get a big ol’ knot in her belly, or someone who has family that lives right down the road that is already retired or chooses not to work, or farms, so that for the most part there is always someone around? No, it happens to me, with my husband an hour away, and family even further.
Maybe nothing will come of it, maybe it doesn’t require surgery, but it hurts when I laugh too hard, and I LIKE laughing too hard. It hurts when I overindulge on pizza. And I LIKE overindulging on pizza every now and then. It hurts every once in a while when I have to get up and down too much with the baby, especially right after dinner. I spend a good quantity of my time getting up and down off the floor. Forget about sitting on the couch or in a chair. Baby is mobile, which means I must be there to keep her out of things, on the floor. I don’t know about the rest of you, but gut surgery and on the floor don’t usually mix for me. What’s my point? I’m cranky.