It's now exactly six weeks since I had my surgery. Which puts me right about at the point where, although far from 100% healed -- that takes many months, apparently -- one might finally be deemed healed enough not to have to worry about messing up the process any more. That does vary, though, and my doctor's apparently decided to give it another week, because my last follow-up appointment, at which I should get the OK to return to work and various other activities (with or without a few continuing restrictions), isn't until July 7th.
Until then, I'm going to try to continue to take things very easy, and get lots of rest, and give my body everything it needs to keep on doing the repair work it needs to do. Really, I'm very lucky to be able to take this much time off of work without any difficulty, and I should take full advantage of it to get as better as I can get before I have to go back. I gotta admit, though, that I'm starting to go a bit stir-crazy here. Because I'm recovered enough now that that instinctive switch in my brain, the one that makes you not want to do much when you're injured or unwell, that switch got flipped off about a week ago. Now I really, really want to clean my damned house. Partly because my body wants an excuse to get up and move around, and partly because, after a month of neglect, the house has reached the point where you could take pictures of it and use them as illustrations in the entropy section of a physics textbook.
Yeah. I think I might have at last found the limit to just how much lying around and reading I can stand, not because I get tired of reading, but because I get tired of never being able to do much of anything else. But I will continue to be good. For at least one more week.