But, as luck would have it, no pain, zero, zilch, nada, bupkis.
Yippee for me.
Except, not. I have a *very* high pain tolerance to begin with, and if I don't hurt, then I tend to ignore good medical advice and do things I shouldn't.
Let's not go into details except to mention there was a 4 pound lift limit on the after-surgery instruction sheet.
A snow/icestorm kept me from my first checkup, another one made me pause but I drove anyway. Good thing. I'd popped an unspecified number of staple-stitches.
Anyhoo, Dr. P's very thorough exam (involving metal expanding devices, a strange alien-eyed flashlight on a tentacle-type support, stirrups and stuff that will keep me up nights if I think on it too long) revealed the 'to be expected this far out from surgery' miscreant bits.
Not to go into squeamish details, but let's just say the word 'cauterize' was used and employed.
To her credit she tried to distract me with questions about my son and the horses and the chickens and even the new kitty. All worthy topics on which I'm happy to riff indefinitely. Just not ... then.
Glinty-eyed, she asked/stated, "You didn't drive here today, did you?"
Uh, yeah. (Now, in my defense, she'd OK'd 'short trips', like to the grocery store. I'd put a little spin of 'independence' on that. My bad.)
Recognizing that that ship done set sail, she cautioned about doing 'little things around the house', followed by rest periods.
'Little things' at my place involve manure forks, front end loaders, 100' of garden hose and a gallon of chlorox to scrub the stock tank.
I leave gathering up the dust bunnies to Little Miss Mayhem who has been surprisingly adept at discovering all those hidden treasures.
She's being especially endearing today.