Step 3 of 1,000,....yeah, yeah, I think you get it

I had my post -op appointment today. I sat with my ass hanging out from the paper drape for a good 15 minutes before I was seen. My incisions were examined and the bruise around my belly button, which has lightened to a lovely shade of yellow, were all given the OK. I can resume normal activity, which to Rob means sex and to me means trying to kill myself at the gym. Either way, I end up breathless and sweaty and feel better when I'm finished. Ahem... moving on.


The doctor also told us that I need to start injectable medications at the end of the month. I have an appointment for two weeks from today (why is this shit always timed in minimum 2-week increments?) to have a consultation on shooting up. Of course the clinic didn't phrase it that way. Hell, they can't even say "intercourse" and insist on using the term "relations." Every time I hear the nurse or doctor tell us to have "relations" I think of the Klump family in the movie The Nutty Professor badgering the poor woman at dinner about having "relations" with Sherman. Then I suddenly want to fart and start cheering "Hercules! Hercules!"



So, that is all there is to say about that. On a closing note, I just have to get pregnant now because of this great news. Being pregnant never looked so good! Riiiiiight.