Yes, dear readers. I have been downstairs. T'was a momentous occasion.
Obviously, I had to go down the stairs in order to go to hospital yesterday. I didn't abseil out of the Little Lady's bedroom window.
But when I got home from hospital, I scuttled straight back upstairs again, to my cosy
See? It's all set up for me. Who wouldn't want to be there?
But today I had a friend come round for a cuppa and I thought 'why not entertain downstairs?'.
Why not indeed, verily and forsooth? (Sorry, I'm in a funny mood today. Must be all this freedom.)
Employing the 'puppet crab' method, I edged sideways down the stairs, clinging onto the bannister. Classy and graceful, as always.
I ditched the crutches because I have found that I can walk around as long as take weird high steps (because I can't bend my feet). It's a bit like powerwalking only it is very very slow. And hilarious to watch. Kudos to the hubby for not laughing.
My friend and I sat in the living room, my feet perched on a borrowed pouffe (thanks Hannah!) and it was nice to be out of the bedroom.
So nice that I had lunch at the kitchen table. I know! Living dangerously is my second hobby.
But sadly, after a couple of hours my feet were objecting. Despite the surgeon telling me to continue to elevate them, I forgot while I had lunch, and that short period - around half an hour - of them being down was enough for them to swell.
I could feel the casts getting tight, the incisions throbbing.
So I scuttled back upstairs to my lovely pit and took some paracetamol and ibuprofen. I also remembered to do my heparin injection and damn that stuff stings when you're not on codeine!
So freedom is great, for sure, but I think too much of a good thing can be dangerous. Maybe I'll ease myself back into the world slowly.
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