I think we should be called Im-patients...

A week ago (and one day) I had my belly opened up. My awesome doctor removed all of my girl parts and a bunch of little scab-like tumors. (That is my choice of words, not hers) I had one on my bladder, one on my rectum, one on each ovary, a couple just floating around and that fatty layering (the omentum) was covered with growths so they just took that sucker out. I am now closer to the Brittany Spears abdomen I've always wanted minus the swelling and the Thomas the Train tracks/staples running from my nether region, up around my belly button and stopping somewhere short of Tidmouth Sheds.

And nobody told me about the fluctuating internal body temperatures. I ventured out yesterday to watch my wee little 3 year old continue his week of  "first ever" swimming lessons. Yes, that was me in the polar fleece jacket...in JULY! I'm hot. I'm cold. I'm hot. I'm cold. Enough already! I'm scaring the other parents down at the pool with my middle-aged striptease. Yikes!

Yep, a week. And I want to feel more normal than I do. Okay, you people that say I've never been even close to normal so why try now. I get it. But I am impatient. I know I should be thankful that things went well. I am. I'm even really happy with the fact that I am sitting here typing this with very little discomfort. And I do believe that it will get better. I'm just a little more Veruca Salt these days. I want it now! Don't care how...I want it NOW!