It took me about a week to go through the frozen dinners I’d stockpiled for knee replacement recovery. (As an aside, let me just comment that I grotesquely underestimated the recovery period, because I had about eight of them.)
But in point of fact, I didn’t care, because I have completely
lost my appetite. I haven’t had anything for breakfast since 25 January;
perhaps three or four days since then I’ve managed some yoghurt around midday.
And except for those frozen meals, dinner has been soup. (And a can of
Progresso soup is two meals.) I just don’t care.
Well, last Wednesday I discovered that it apparently takes my
gastro-intestinal system two weeks to empty out; I spent the day in some
distress, but here I am, so all’s well.
Still, I don’t want any repeats of that. Friday evening I got
kabob takeout, because it “tasted” good in my mind and I thought the rice would
be easy on my stomach.
It did taste good, and I got three meals out of it, so it was a
good investment.
Also—I’m now at the point where I can walk both up and down
stairs in the normal fashion—step, step, step, step (as opposed to step, match;
step, match). I remind myself that I’m still short of one month out from having
my knee carved up like a pumpkin, so I'm taking both these things as wins and
reasons for gratitude.
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