The first afternoon after surgery, a very nice physiotherapist came to help me get out of bed.
It was really hard. I had to have an orderly helping too, as well as Dave and the physio.
The first challenge was to get me sitting upright with my feet over the edge of the bed. I was sore and scared. It's amazing how limiting fear of moving can be.
That was the most difficult bit. Once that was done, I discovered how helpful my (then) super strong legs were. I was able to rely heavily on the strength of legs and use my core, where my wounds were, less.
I stood. I shuffled over to a chair about 2 steps away. I sat there for a little while.
Then I spewed. It was a really intense shade of green. I've never seen anything like it before! At that point I decided it was time to get back into bed.
This picture of me looking awful pits my vanity against my love of documenting stuff. I must have already been feeling sick as I have a sick bag on my lap ready.
It turned out that getting back into bed was just as hard as getting up. I needed help from the hospital staff and my strong legs but once I was in it was a relief, and I had some food later. The first food since I'd started fasting before surgery, my last meal being dinner on the 3rd.