Breast Reconstruction – Take 37

I just woke up from my fourth coma nap in as many days; you know the type. You fall into bed (to “take a little nap”) only to wake up several hours later, dazed and confused, wondering where the heck you are, who you are, and how you got there.

I guess I’ve been overdoing things a bit this past week.

I made black currant jam and rhubarb jam (free fruit in our gardens), bought some clearance plants, planted said clearance plants (carefully, before all you overprotective mother-types cringe in anger), tried to mow the lawn (I had to get off and have my husband take over… too bouncy), had my feet worked on at Salon Rouge in LaConner, bought some mulberry paper from Paper Zone in Bellingham to make some more of the poem cards I sell, attended my writing group for the first time in months, cleaned out my mud room and turned it into an extension of our 6×10 kitchen…

Phew. I’m tired.

The last time I saw the plastic surgeon, he said to me, “Oh, you’re one of those.” Well. After I gave the guy a nice free copy of my book and everything, he goes and insults me. Actually, he was laughing, and well, I couldn’t really argue with the guy.

I’m off to dead-head some plants in the sunshine.

 

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