Today is my final day of at-home recovery. This isn't the end of recovery, as I should enter cardiac rehab later this month, once I sign up for BFJV's health insurance. It's a special exercise program that will allow me to find my limits in a safe environment.
I think I've found a few, lately, as I stayed up later than I should have at Chez Houghton earlier this weekend. My back spasmed, my intercostal muscles groaned, & I felt like all the dukes & earls of the Known World used me as their pell. Then, a kink developed in my intestines, & confused me. I thought it was my diaphragm that was being inconvenient. Nope. It was the kind of gas attack that the armistice of 1918 was supposed to have ended. A night of deep poking around broke that up, & various meds were brought to bear. About all that's left is my left shoulder, which refuses to check my internal bulletin board. Perhaps our electric heat pad will bring it around.
Even though NASA will face deep cuts if Congress doesn't get its act together soon, I'm looking forward to coming back. In the last 6 or 7 years, my coworkers have gone from people at nearby desks to friends, some of whom I see after hours, & many of the library's patrons have gone from mere faces to faces I look forward to seeing once more.
