Today begins week three of being away from home. At least now I have my doggers with me. The poor beasts aren't sure what's going on. Ian and I have never been apart this long in the whole time we have had them. I haven't seen my naughty kitty since this all started. I'm thankful that Ian has thus far been able to come up on Saturdays. I know it's pretty standard to tell people in situations such as these to stay positive and look on the bright side, but sometimes people just need a hug. Sometimes people just need to get mad and yell or cry. And sometimes, that is ok too.
My pain levels are now manageable with four standard ibuprofen and I've only needed the prescription stuff at night before I go to bed. I've been holding down more foods and have managed to increase my calorie intake to over 1,000 calories every day (I record everything I eat to submit as evidence to the doctor). My GI spasms are less frequent, and I've been sleeping through the night.
My hope is that I get to go home next week. Considering it's taken a month just to get in to the surgical specialist for a consult, I honestly don't foresee any decisions being made for at least another month (just being realistic). It is also very possible that they will decide not to operate as living with issues is the safer alternative. At this point, it is reasonable to expect that I will have to learn to live with my symptoms.
I am anxious about my cyst rupturing. My body would just reabsorb the fluid, but a cyst rupture is terribly unfortunate business. I honestly don't know what to expect in the weeks and months ahead, but for now, I must screw my courage to the sticking place and soldier on. Please cross your fingers that I get to go home soon.
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