Coming at you tonight from Camp Recliner, capitol of the Land of Percocet.
Kate says: hidden.
Post-surgery depression and anxiety settle in like a wet, smelly, heavy blanket. Not unexpected. But sucky. Ovaries are in shock, so a few hot flashes. Dogs mope, bored and irritated that I can’t pick them up. Muscles jerk at strange intervals, making me look like a marionette on drugs. Bone-crushing fatigue. I want to yell at everyone while crying and eating popcorn.
This will pass.
This is when it’s time to dig in, to access the toughness.
God is good. So faithful to give me what I need.
Faithful to you, too.
Hang in there.
Trust in Him.