I Was Not Cut Out for Bedrest

After five days on my back in a hospital bed, I arrived back at home, eager for more..bedrest.  Well, at least I am home, where I can get some actual sleep.  When I was in the hospital, I was getting poked and prodded every hour to make sure that I was still breathing, and I really appreciate not having to deal with that right now.  

The surgery I had, which involved cutting fat from my belly and reconstructing breasts from the tissue, requires that I pretty much put my feet up and rest.  The instructions specifically say "NO HOUSEWORK", and I intended to follow the directions.  I've slept as much as I can, and tried not to do too much.

Except my mind goes a little wonky after all the pain meds and I find myself thinking that maybe I could do some laundry.  When I tell myself no, that I am supposed to not do any housework, my brain can't just take that. 

What about that piece of paper on the floor over there? 

No means no, I tell my brain. 

Come on, it's just one piece of paper.  You can do it.  Nobody will notice!

No. 

Now I am eyeing that piece of paper, however, thinking that maybe I could pick it up and throw it away.  Paper doesn't weigh anything, I reason.  I reach for the paper, and that's when the reason for the bedrest and the no housework rule shows up.  Pain.  Stitches pull with movement, and despite Patrick Swayze's Roadhouse assertion that 'pain don't hurt', I assure you most confidently that it does. 

So I sit in the recliner and push it back and snooze.  At least until the next time my brain has a bright idea.