Recovering

Well, folks, the Vicodin cloud is lifting.  I can now remember my own name, stay awake for longer than 3 hours at a time and am starting to feel guilty about laying around and doing nothing but watching "Dexter" and "Airline."  The pain is still kind of icky but it's time to fold up the blankets, sleep in my bedroom and not on the couch and maybe actually leave the house for the first time in almost a week.  Oh, and I no longer look like I'm auditioning for the new Chipmunks movie or as some horror movie slasher named Balloonhead.

So as I mentioned, I can't eat solid food until January 5th.  No chewing at all.  You'd think that the prospect of unlimited soup, ice cream, pudding and chopped up macaroni and cheese would make me quiver with excitement, but actually it's not the thrill you'd imagine it would be.

Now I was a little worried to see how seven days of laying around drinking milkshakes and eating chocolate pudding would affect the ole weight loss plan.  I hadn't weighed myself since the middle of November, so tonight I figured I'd bite the bullet and hop on the evil, evil scale.

I've lost 15 pounds!  I could officially be a spokesperson for the couch potato diet.  Now I wouldn't recommend letting someone cut your face open and implant bones into your mouth and stitch the whole thing up, but 15 pounds was a nice consolation prize for my pain and suffering.  That and the pictures of myself with cheeks the size of fists, which of course I'll cherish forever.