Day 275--Troubling Realization
I think the most surprising thing about the recovery and the blog and is that there is a clear star in the minds of you readers. Not me. Not the surgeon who basically saved my life. Not the nursing staff. Not my Mom who more or less moved to Illinois for 5 weeks.
Nope, it's Sir Koff A Lot. Last Sunday, Krystal's friend Stacy came over to meet Aidan and see Krystal. What was her first question? "Can I see Sir Koff A Lot?"
This is not atypical. I've gotten a number of emails or blog comments about the little guy. Apparently, a stuffed animal that serves a medical purpose captures the imagination.
My chest is still a little sore when I wake up in the morning. Nothing unbearable, by any stretch, but enough that I've been keeping Sir Koff A Lot around. I like to sleep on my right side, a little tilted towards the bed. For comfort, I stuff Koff A Lot between my chest and the bed. Wednesday night, I woke up in the middle of the night and Sir Koff A Lot was not in his usual position. I had apparently moved him and put my head down on his belly at some point during the evening, and was using him like a pillow. At that moment, in bed, 8 weeks after surgery, I had a terrible thought: "Holy Shit. I'm a 33-year-old man that sleeps with a teddy bear. This has got to stop."
And that, my friends, is the sign that my recovery is complete.
Nope, it's Sir Koff A Lot. Last Sunday, Krystal's friend Stacy came over to meet Aidan and see Krystal. What was her first question? "Can I see Sir Koff A Lot?"
This is not atypical. I've gotten a number of emails or blog comments about the little guy. Apparently, a stuffed animal that serves a medical purpose captures the imagination.
My chest is still a little sore when I wake up in the morning. Nothing unbearable, by any stretch, but enough that I've been keeping Sir Koff A Lot around. I like to sleep on my right side, a little tilted towards the bed. For comfort, I stuff Koff A Lot between my chest and the bed. Wednesday night, I woke up in the middle of the night and Sir Koff A Lot was not in his usual position. I had apparently moved him and put my head down on his belly at some point during the evening, and was using him like a pillow. At that moment, in bed, 8 weeks after surgery, I had a terrible thought: "Holy Shit. I'm a 33-year-old man that sleeps with a teddy bear. This has got to stop."
And that, my friends, is the sign that my recovery is complete.