The first book club I went to was in December. I hadn’t ever been before and, while I had met most of these women once, I was a little intimidated. It’s interesting how our insecurities play out in our head. These women are amazing. I read their blogs and just think, “Wow, I wish I was that crafty,” or “If only I could write stories in such a captivating way,” or “How would it be to take such great pictures?”

Another thing with reading about someone on a blog before you really get to know them is that you forget that these are real women who have real flaws (I’m sure) and real insecurities of their own. I often find myself thinking, “Why would these women want to be friends with me? Obviously their lives are amazing and fulfilling already. What could I possibly add?” I sure love being female and forever aware of what people are thinking about me (or what I think they are thinking about me)!

Even though I had been once, and I was really excited for last night (so excited that I went even though I hadn’t finished The Thirteenth Tale which, thankfully, is so very complicated, in a good way, that the evening didn’t completely ruin the book for me), that excitement had not alleviated the apprehension that I still felt about how amazing these women are. And then, the most minor thing happened when I walked in the door. One of these wonderful women turned to me and said, “Oh, you’re here on time. I thought you said you were going to be late.” This one interaction made me feel like I belonged. It meant that, when I sent a response to the email about book club, saying I would likely be late due to a prior engagement, this woman had paid attention and cared and remembered.

1. If a nurse ever tells you, before pumping a drug into your IV, that it “might burn a little”, just know that what the nurse really means is, “this is going to burn so badly that you are going to wish you were dead rather than endure the pain from this, even if it only lasts two minutes.”
2. When the anesthesiologist says, in response to your inquiries about puking, “This is 21st century anesthetic. It’s made to be puke-free”, he is a lying dog! Unfortunately, I assumed that he was telling me the truth and didn’t keep a spit pan nearby until after I didn’t make it to the bathroom the first time. Thankfully, I was better prepared for puking episodes two and three.
3. While my plans of losing weight seemed foolproof with an inability to eat anything solid, my stomach decided that it needed more than a popsicle to coat it before I took painkillers every 4 hours…so ice-cream became my stomach’s BFF. Yeah…no weight loss happening here.
4. Grandmas…while perhaps scary drivers…make great recovery nurses. I just laid on the couch for two days while my grandma was at my beck and call. She even gave me a bell to ring, so I wouldn’t have to call for her. (Only once did she not hear the bell…thank goodness for cell phones).
5. When the doctor says recovery takes about two weeks, he’s dead serious.
6. And when he says days 4-7 are the worst, just be prepared. You think the pain on day 1 is bad…it’s nothing compared to day 4.
7. Swallowing hurts. Yawning hurts. Coughing hurts. Laughing hurts. Sleeping hurts. It just hurts.
8. Percocet is a good thing. A very, very, very good thing. I think anyone with whom I spoke would agree. Apparently, I’ve been saying some pretty funny things these days. I feel normal, of course.
9. Surgery that causes pain to your throat the week before one of the best food holidays of the year is not a great idea.
10. I also had great plans for what I would do during my recovery time (sleep, write essays, read books). None of it really happened. Sleep is interrupted by my need for painkillers (even last night). Writing essays? Ha. Reading…well, after I tapered off the drugs enough, I could manage reading a little. What did I really do? Watched lots and lots of reality t.v. I have now seen ever episode of JDMA ever recorded…twice. So good! I rarely watch t.v. due to time constraints, but I do love it! And am I embarrassed that I love me some Janice Dickinson? Absolutely not. (See…the painkillers are still talking).