I am beginning to wonder if I should have entitled this first lot of blog entries, as “Speaking about the unspeakable!”

Well here I am in the middle of the road of recovery from having my uterus guts and insides undergo a complete “Changing room experience!” But unlike the house and room reveals on popular tv shows where some stylist boasts a transformation of the space and then holds a reveal party, my reveal party is not so glamourous.

For a person like me, who got the nickname Bizz, as apparently as a child I resembled a frantic bee, which in today’s era would be possibly termed ADHD, I find it hard to sit in a stationary position for a long period of time. Although I don’t think I sleepwalk, yet, I sleep extremely well probably due to the sheer exhaustion of a busy life.

Unfortunately, this in grained buzzy bee behaviour has been my enemy in my hysto recovery and has created a few healing complications.

But as my special specialist said, “Nothing to be overly alarmed about, and nothing the word R…E…S…T, (as was spelt out in his best preschool tone, and I think you don’t understand teacher manner!) wouldn’t fix”.

REST? So, what does this mean now?

At week three of my “uterine blow out”, I have had to rely on my dear youngest 18-year-old son, whilst hubby is busy sign posting the world in time for Christmas specials.  This scene generally sees my son sternly addressing me as the “parent”, as I run amuck around the backyard, trimming leaves and acting like a pollinating lunatic bee!

  “Don’t come running to this L plater when you need a lift to the doctors,” I here fluttering from his head peeking through the sliding door.I bet Kim Kardashein’s support team wouldn’t talk to her like that!   

But the embarrassing thing is he is right. This child GenI otter, knows I do need to rest, and I know, this. So, I need to hold my otters’ little hand and know being still, being quiet, will be ok.

So today’s mantra is, I can be this Otterly fabulous person.

Now in case you didn’t know, sea otters hold hands to keep from floating away from each other while they sleep. How do I know this David Attenborough stuff?  Well, it was on the sticky piece you need to pull off, attached to my pad!  What an otterly marvellous thing in keeping one another safe and secure in a vulnerable state!

I am beginning to wonder if I should have entitled this first lot of blog entries, as “Speaking about the unspeakable!”

So, a strange reflection I guess, as really, my whole journey of hysto recovery has seen me rely on little otter people holding my little otter hand for the last 3 weeks.

Strange I guess as the special specialist, who was really my operative sea otter as I slept in a medicinal sleep state, was holding my hand while he ripped my uterus to shreds.

Strange I guess, as my otter son is currently holding my hand by picking up the slack, even though there are some grumbles for what Mum normally does as chauffeur, cook, cleaner and all-round Alice of The Brady Bunch.

Strange as I guess, my otter friends who have dropped food, flowers, called and visited, have also been holding my little otter hand.

But strangest of all, I guess is that MR BIG OTTER, my God, is, has and will be holding my hand through all of this.

So, using my CSI, and detective mind, it appears that everyone else has been keeping their end of the otter contract or bargain, except me!

So that’s’ my recovery challenge. Be still. Or realistically, be a little more still than I normally would be!


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