Lazy and Fat

I've become that girl. The girl who takes the elevator to go up one floor and can hear the people left on the elevator say behind her, "I've never seen anyone use an elevator just for one floor." Oh really? Well now you have. I would of course never ever be elevatoring it for one floor if I weren't still in a fair amount of pain from the surgery and trying to conserve steps.

I even showed up at the doctor's office this week sure I had gang green. Why else would I be in more pain than the day after the surgery? Why else would the top of the scar be turning kind of red or be bruised all around or be slightly numb to the touch? But apparently this is all normal and I'm still not past the amount of time they deem normal for recovery.

Oh, and you'll love this. I had to come home from work early on Friday because my pants were too tight. That's right. Fridays are jeans days at the office, and I hadn't thought when I left the house that jeans being substantially tighter than slacks would be a problem. But this scar is still so sensitive that even sitting down in jeans is not bearable at this point. Even that slight pressure of the denim on the scar was too much, and I spent the afternoon working from home in my LA pants. In fact, I pretty much spent the whole weekend wearing LA pants. Between that and the elevator, I'm seriously having some sort of health-induced panic crisis here. Therapy should really be part of the post-op package. Someone put Obama on that.

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