I feel like a new woman.
This morning, I got up with the babes, dressed them, fed them, brewed myself a cup of tea (water still hurts too much to swallow) and left the boyfriend to have an enviable 20 minute snooze (he deserves it, he’s been solo Daddy for the past week I’ve been lying in my bed of pain). Then he came down to take over and I went up to the bathroom, peeled off my pjs, showered, put on my red cashmere knit and skinny grey jeans, and applied mascara and red lipstick. Just like the good old days before I got my tonsils out.
“But she’s been in agony (and pyjamas) for days. How the hell did she do that?” I hear you all shout.
The answer is simple, and rather beautiful all rolled into one: prescription Tramadol.
I don’t know much about pharmaceuticals but I understand it’s in the league of Morphine type drugs. No shit people get addicted to that stuff. I’m riding high on this Tramadol and I’m not even taking the full whack they prescribed. I can still see, talk, think clearly (ok, the talking perhaps isn’t quite as clear as usual but that’s because I’m down a couple of tonsils and quite swollen back there) but the world is a warmer, more pleasant, fluffier place to be. Whatever I am doing-changing the little lady’s pooey nappy, dealing with the Madame’s tantrum, cleaning dishes, daydreaming, watching tv-is somehow perfect. I suppose one could say I am loved up with life.
I will have loads of the stuff left over after I am finally recovered from the tonsillectomy and need pain relief no more. I have suggested to the boyfriend we should take some Tramadol recreationally but he has just given up smoking, is on a health drive and thinks I’m nuts. The tabs don’t go out of date for months though so I’ve got plenty of time to win him round.