Arnold was kind enough to make a special trip to the public library to borrow some books for me to read while I’m recuperating at home for the month. He seems to have his finger on the pulse of my interests, as his selection of books have utterly held me in thrall since I delved into their pages on Monday.

To be honest, reading is a pasttime I thoroughly enjoy, but generally have little time to indulge. Having nothing but time and no place to go certainly creates a rare and precious opportunity for me to lose myself for hours, traveling vicariously to faraway lands and learning more about things that interest me.

I blasted through Snakeskin Shamisen by Naomi Hirahara in little more than a day.

From Publishers Weekly (as published on Amazon.com’s website)
In youth-obsessed Los Angeles, maturity and reticence work in favor of the 70ish gardener Mas Arai, Hirahara’s reluctant hero, as he gets drawn into his highly enjoyable third mystery (after 2005’s Gasa-Gasa Girl). Mas leaves a party held for a friend at a Hawaiian restaurant early, but when the guest of honor turns up dead, Mas has to return to the restaurant to answer questions about anything suspicious he might have observed. A broken shamisen (a stringed instrument similar to a banjo) found at the crime scene, he realizes, indicates that the seeds of the murder were sown in Okinawa during WWII. As a Hiroshima survivor, Mas has his misgivings about examining the past too closely, but his strong sense of right and wrong propels him toward a just resolution. Hirahara’s sharp ear for dialogue and keen sense of place mark this as a superior read, but it’s her intimate view of the Japanese-American community and her wry portrait of the endearing Mas, with his fondness for gambling and Spam, that really make this series stand out. (May)

The familiarity of situations, foods, phrases, and of course, the Okinawan culture appeal to me, making this a fun, quick read. The only thing that peeved me somewhat was how the author chose to phonetically illustrate the Japanese accent of the main character with dialog such as:

“Itsu orai, Tug. I take care. I see youzu later.”

Youzu, Izu, itsu… for some reason makes my hair stand on end.

To her credit, however, the author does a fabulous job weaving some common Japanese words and phrases into the storyline and cleverly explaining their meaning without interrupting the flow of the story to define them. The plot itself is also quite intriguing and also gives readers a glimpse into a bit of Japanese-American history, the ravages of the Battle of Okinawa as well as the bomb in Hiroshima. If you can get past the “youzu, izu, itsu”, then I recommend the book for a nice diversion for a lazy Sunday afternoon.

As stated pointedly on the Friday5.org website, I have no excuse for missing a Friday 5 installation during my 4 weeks of convalescence at home. Not surprisingly, I’m still late, however.

1. What’s something that used to be good but now is lame?
Tapered jeans. Big hair. Spandex pants — on guys.

2. What’s something that used to be lame but now is good?
Bell-bottoms and wide-leg trousers.

3. What’s something you used to feel strongly about, but are now ambivalent about?
As an idealistic teen, I aspired to be a musician — or at least involved in some facet of the music industry. I have since grown up, grown old, and grown jaded. Any semblance of musical inclinations I once possessed have since fallen by the wayside.

4. What’s something you used to feel ambivalent about, but now have strong feelings about?
Being a good wife, daugther, and hopefully someday, mother to my family. I used to be much more career-driven, these days, I’d be much more content as a full-time wife/mom, carting the kiddies off to the school and afterschool activities, spending quality time with the hubs and kiddies at the park, and whipping up fabulous healthy dishes for the family. I’d make an excellent June Cleaver.

5. What’s something you used to dislike but now love?
Japanese and Okinawan culture and cuisine. During my teen years, I did all I could to distance myself from my heritage, convinced myself that Italian food was my favorite and rock’n'roll was king. Since my 20’s, I have been much more in touch with my Okinawan culture and heritage, although have not been as fanatical as I used to be. The passion for my heritage still burns like an ember in my heart, though. Always there.

I don’t know if I’ve been straining myself by getting in and out of the bed on my own or if it’s the lack of painkillers in my bloodstream, but last night, the pain returned in force. Even my innards were sore, where my fallopian tubes used to be.

I relented and downed a 600 mg motrin. It wasn’t long before the pain subsided, a little.

It was enough for me to fall asleep. When I awakened this morning, I was greeted with pain. But, not from the surgery site as you would expect — but my back. I guess lying down for hours upon hours can take its toll on your back, even with a Tempurpedic. I’m trying to avoid taking the motrin as long as possible. We’ll see if I can make it through the day without it.

Perhaps I need to take a stroll around outside for a few minutes. When I was in the hospital, I was taking laps in the hallway. Since I’ve been home, I’ve only been walking from the bedroom to the kitchen, back to the bedroom, to the bathroom, to the den, back to the bedroom, etc. It would be nice to get some fresh air, too.

Exactly 7 days have passed since doctors took scalpels to my lower abdomen. It seems like it’s been a lot longer.

Eating has become a precarious endeavor as of late.

A few days ago, the poo was elusive — now, it seems intent on earning the title of the bitchy poo.

Nearly everything seems to provoke the poo into fits of irritability, causing me to sit on the porcelain throne for great lengths of time, many times to yield nothing but a few mumurs of protest, but no solid evidence of the mutiny being waged in the depths of my bowels.

Ambitiously, I attempted to ingest half of a small order of mild stewed chicken curry the other day, with unfavorable results. I’ve since resorted back to my simple diet of oatmeal for breakfast, miso soup and brown rice for lunch and dinner. If my appetite approves, I partake in a small serving of salad, but I always leave a little room for jell-o for dessert. As a gastronome at heart, inevitably, my stomach will grow weary of such bland fare and will learn how to behave nicely once more.

Desperate to restore some normality to my digestive system, I have decided to cut the pain meds, cold turkey. As I mentioned in the previous entry, my prescription of percocet has been depleted, leaving me with a supply of 600 mg motrin. I took a dose and decided to see how long I could last before taking the next… it’s been nearly 18 hours and I seem to be tolerating the discomfort quite well. I think I’ll try to forgo taking it as much as possible, at least to give my stomach a break from all the drugs.

I’m starting to regain my mobility and I’m now able to move in and out of bed, albeit gingerly, on my own. Thank God we opted for the adjustable queen-size Tempurpedic bed. It has contributed greatly to my post-surgery comfort level, and with the back elevated, it is easier for me to get in and out of bed without stressing the incision on my lower abdomen. People have teased me about my purchase, saying that only old people buy adjustable beds, but I’ll happily endure the jibes knowing that in times like these, it is so worth it. Besides that, I love the convenience, since during times of wellness, it provides a comfortable environment for lounging with your favorite book or movie without having to crink your neck or back.

The road to recovery certainly doesn’t seem as perilous as I had imagined; but I’ve found that things are usually not as bad as I anticipate.

My blood pressure monitor has been hovering around 118/80, much better than my pre-op 155/99. Aside from having the worst behind me, I suppose having no worries for another three weeks ahead can have a positive affect on anyone’s outlook.

I just took my last percocet.

Now, it’s time to downgrade to Motrin 600 mg. I hope it’ll be as effective as the percocet in managing the pain and that I won’t find myself jonesing for another hit like Dr. House and his vicodin.

The elusive poo has finally come to pass, greeted with much fanfare and celebration, might I add.

But, now it seems that the OFF switch is broken. I guess we can’t knock the efficacy of prune juice, now can we?

I was discharged from the hospital late Sunday night. Apparently, my doctor forgot to stop by the hospital to see me after his afternoon golf game. By the time the nurse got him on the telephone, he was enroute to a birthday dinner. She passed me the phone and he sounded sincerely apologetic for his forgetfulness. As long as he didn’t forget anything important during the procedure! I assured him that coming to see me after his party was fine and he sounded confident that, based on my progress, I would be discharged that night. Although my stay at the hospital was not an unpleasant one, I was ready to go home and sleep in my own bed. Besides that, poor Hubby had not gotten a good rest since the beginning of this ordeal, between the nurses stopping in to take my vitals and me having to pee about every other hour. It was time to go home.

By the time we got home, it was 10:30 pm. Hubby made a couple of phone calls and found the pharmacy at our neighborhood Longs Drugs was already closed for the night. I was due for another dose of percocet at midnight, and another at 4:00 am, so it was critical that we fill that prescription that night. We discovered, the hard way, what happens when I miss a dose.

On Saturday night, I was supposed to take a dose at 9:00 pm, but fell asleep until midnight. Since the nurses had no qualms about waking me for everything else, I thought they’d rouse me to adminster my pain meds. Well, I thought wrong. They don’t give you pain meds unless you ask. I woke up with the need to pee, three hours overdue for a percocet, and the pain level had skyrocketed. It didn’t hit me until Hubby helped me back into bed after I relieved myself. I like to think that I have a pretty good tolerance for pain, but this time, tears streamed down my cheeks until I could calm myself enough to do some deep breathing to make the pain subside. After I took the percocet and a 600 mg motrin, I asked Hubby to set the alarm on his cell phone so we would never miss a dose again, and slipped back to sleep. Thus, every 4 hours, Hubby’s alarm sounds and I promptly press the Nurse Call button and have been riding the percocet wave ever since.

Luckily, for 24-hour service at Longs Drugs in Pearl City. He drove out into the rain, filled my prescription and came home with a blood pressure monitor, kimi balls, and pitted prunes.

I’m still watching what I eat until the elusive poo comes to pass. According to the nurses, when you go under general anesthesia, everything goes to sleep — including your bowels, and it seems that the bowel is the last thing to wake up. The persistent question from everyone who tended to me was: “are you passing gas?” Apparently, not passing gas is a bad, bad thing. Luckily for me, I guess, my first post-surgery fart came rather quickly, and with that, came the urging to get off the liquid diet and on to solids. I managed to sneak in another liquid lunch before they switched me, albeit relucantly, to a “soft” dinner. What came was not what I had in mind: meat loaf with brown gravy, mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli, tossed salad, and a fruit cocktail. I managed to eat everything except the meat loaf and the broccoli — which, in my opinion, was too hard for my delicate digestive system. After that meal, I was able to place my food orders and I kept it to soups, vegetables, and other selections that would not upset my stomach.

Truth be told, I’m frightened of being constipated. I can imagine my stomach feeling like the stitches are being ripped in the midst of trying to pass a particularly difficult poo. So, I’ve taken up the habit of drinking prune juice and munching on pitted prunes. Aside from the sleeping bowels, I understand that pain killers are also notorious for stopping you up. The doctor also prescribed a stool softener for me, but so far, no #2.

Aside from the elusive poo, things are quite well considering. Since I got home, I have been sleeping nearly non-stop. As I mentioned, being awakened every few hours by nurses (and my bladder) can be tiring, so I’ve been catching up on lost sleep. The pain killers also make me very drowsy, so it seems like every time I start to read a book, my eyes start closing and I end up napping for a couple of hours — until it’s time to pee, eat or take my meds again. That’s pretty much all I’ve been up to the past couple of days: sleep, pee, eat, medicate, repeat.

The only reason I’m up out of bed right now is because Hubby had to take his grandma to the hospital for a CAT scan and I can’t get in and out of bed without his assistance. So, I figured I might as well sit up until he gets back. Heaven forbid, I’m stuck in bed and unable to get to the bathroom!

Hubby has been an absolute godsend throughout this whole ordeal, tirelessly taking care of me, getting me in and out of bed, helping me in the bathroom, giving me sponge baths, washing my hair, and pampering me more than he should. (I’m trying not to get spoiled.) I am so grateful for such a wonderful, loving husband. As long as I know he’s by my side, I know I can endure anything. When I thank him, he is quick to take the focus off himself, “God is helping you,” he says. To which I reply, “yes, but you’re helping him. You’re his man on the ground.” I couldn’t ask for a better guardian angel.