PSD

And so, four days after the latest cancer surgery, things remain a bit iffy. From hospital sign-in to release, the procedure was flawless. I counted a total of 27 people who came to speak to me. The most interesting of the lot was a lady who asked to see my driver’s license to make sure I had not sent a proxy to the surgery, an interesting concept I had not given thought to but will certainly consider the next time around.

Everything was clockwork, and when I was sent home in late afternoon, I was grateful for the economy of movement displayed by the hospital, but surprised that, once again, the surgeon had left the premises without telling me exactly what the procedure had achieved. This I will not learn this until next Thursday, leaving me a full week to address fears and concerns.

There’s not too much discomfort but when the pain arrives as it does in waves of three, I have to grit my teeth and hold my breath. Luckily it passes quickly. I haven’t wandered too far from my house though I did make an emergency trip to Subway for a couple of foot-longs. Friends have been kind, but I have not really been kind to them. I have no wishes to see anyone, to be reassured, to discuss options and an uncertain future.

What I have done is submerge myself in writing. I am rereading Clavell’s Shogun; I have ordered Updike’s Rabbit tetralogy on Amazon; I am watching reruns of The Office. I am debating whether I should once again try to master Halo on the X-Box.  I am reminded of Jimmy Buffet’s great line, “my nose runs, my feet smell, and I don’t love Jesus.” That sounds about right.  

On a whim I Googled post-surgical depression (PSD) which seems to be a bona fide disease, so maybe that’s what’s going on. It has led me to avoid the phone calls and texts from concerned acquaintances or at best respond monosyllabically. I’ve not opened the door to three drop-by visitors, and watched five complete seasons of The Office, which after repeated viewings still make me laugh. I plan to do nothing tonight save segue from Shogun to Noble House and further figure out the mysteries of Netflix which, after much trial and error, I managed to install in my house.

I have supplies, unlimited gallons of tea and coffee, eight assorted muffins and a complete make-your-own-enchiladas kit, both gifts of concerned friends.  Also, four packs of frozen shrimp and eight cups of instant Thai soup.

I might just stay indoors for a long while.