Surgery, what surgery?
So, it’s been 9 days since the shoulder surgery, and (aside from a dorky haircut and some surgical staples) you’d never know I’ve been under the knife. I am still taking anti-inflammatory drugs and injections to help my cartilage heal, but Mom and Dad stopped sedating me a day or two ago, and I’m driving them crazy. I’m learning not to get up on the furniture, not to jump on company, and other things my folks call “good manners.” Desipte my exercise restriction, however, I feel great.
Dad tried walking me on a little slip leash for about two days before he gave up and resorted to the Gentle Leader. I hate that thing. It works so well that Dad has complete control and I can’t pull him around anymore. He says it’s for my own good, but every time I try to run and play with Rana, my nose gets pulled down, I can’t see where I’m going, and I have to stop pulling. Nuts!
So far, Dad says my wounds are healing nicely and there’s no sign of any complications. I say, that’s a perfect reason to let me off the leash. Dad has a different opinion on that subject, but he and Mom are gaining a deep appreciation of why some of their clients fail to follow-through when strict rest is prescribed. It appears that it’s much easier to give pills than tough love. But the truth is that without rest, all the medicines in the world might not make me better. It’s really important, I guess, but it’s hard on everybody around here. Even Rana seems to know that wrestling is off limits and he won’t oblige when I try to get him to play.