Second last day of my medical leave. I learned, from my wife, that the doctors wanted me to stay in the hospital longer, but that I was getting restless.
I’ll spend the last two days, poring over schemes of work and textbooks. I’m dreading the amount of work that I’m going to have to do to catch up on everything.
The doctors told my wife that I had to be a tough son of a bitch to take so long to get to the hospital with my burst appendix. I thought for an instance that yeah, I was a man with a high pain tolerance. I did go out for dinner with my appendicitis, after all; and I told my wife the pain was merely discomfort. And I did endure the discomfort of a hernia for a few months. And I have been enduring stomach pains for years. And I had been operating with a sore heel for a few months. But I don’t want to be a braggart.
To counter my pain tolerance, which maybe might be true, I have to confess that I’m no stoic, but in fact, am an overly sentimental man. I cried when I thought of how my health troubles had so inconvenienced my wife Jenny and my son Tony. I choked up when I recalled how on another vacation, my father died. I choked up as well when I had to tell my boss at work what had happened and had to request leave.
I also have to confess to always feeling guilty. Recovering, as I have been advised by others that I should do, I can’t help but feel I’m shirking.
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