3 minutes of sleep. I am WAY over not being able to use my dominant arm above the elbow. I'm like a menopausal T Rex. And not sleeping on my stomach? Over that too. Like if "over it" were continents, I'd be Asia. I'm glad I'm not dead 'n all but a friggin' nap and opening a bag of pretzels without MacGuyvering a device made from garden tools and a pulley system would be swell.
I'm 4 weeks in, today. It still feels weird when Sparky kicks in and beats for my slacker ticker. Like a tiny, wee man is in there tapping lightly on my sternum. I envision him British. With a monocle. The incision site is still tender. I have all kinds of bizarre pangs and my energy level compared to a few months ago bites. See: "Nap" above... Two more weeks of downtime before I can raise my arm above my waist and not risk ripping my leads out of my heart. Which, by the way, are *screwed* in. One tiny wine corkscrew and one tiny jewel thief grappling hook. I miss being able to pick up my dog and have him sleep in my lap every morning while I drink stevia coffee with disgust, the most.
But it's also 4 weeks of no near-fainting, 4 weeks of a clear head, 4 weeks of no heart racing to catch up with dips into the 30s and 40s, 4 weeks of being able to complete a sentence without someone finishing my thought for me, 4 weeks of not texting my husband at work to "check on me in 15 minutes" every time I took a shower, 4 weeks of not leaving my doors unlocked to make sure the paramedics can easily get in, and never setting my phone down so I can have the best shot at calling 911 when "the big one" hits, fear. I did all of that for months.
So what's 2 more weeks?! I'm sure I still have a right armpit though at this point, it's pure conjecture...