I should have known better. I was forewarned. I thought I could beat the odds. I am a fool.
I pushed myself too hard yesterday, because I was finally able to get up and move around without constant pain. I definitely felt it today. Loved ones told me this exact scenario would happen, but I thought, “Surely that’s earlier on in the recovery than this!” I am an idiot.
All of that aside, I made it through most of this morning pleasantly without incident, even (unintentionally) taking my pain medicine an hour later than scheduled. While I felt it a little bit, my world didn’t completely collapse. That grew my confidence: I must be almost all the way better, if I’m only at a 3 when I’m not on pain meds! I haven’t been coughing — my scabs must be nearly totally gone. I can drink and eat without idolizing the dead. Full steam ahead!
Then I made an epically bad decision, one on par with Oedipus marrying his mother. After my delicious, vitamin-enriched breakfast of a chocolate protein shake, I attempted to eat a lunch consisting of one-half of one piece of Oscar Mayer Ultra Thin Roast Beef. You know the kind: the almost see-through slices people put on sandwiches. The ones that are loaded with salt.
To say it burned like the sand and rain in the inner-most ring of the seventh circle of hell is an only slightly exaggerated descriptor. It was as though the lava from a volcano had formed a hand, like in the cartoons, and was reaching down my throat to tickle my stomach with fingers licking of flames. Tears instantly sprang to my eyes. I cursed myself, time and again, while furiously drinking ice water until the pain receded. I am the jester in my royal court.
After lunch, I decided it was time for a nap. I fell asleep around 1:30 and woke up at 5:30. That’s approximately as much sleep as I typically get in a full night. I evidently needed it, though, because I awoke with a pain level of only a 1-2 and high enough energy to eat two small pancakes for dinner.
Life is looking up. Peace and love.