Well, who would have thought it - quarter of a year has gone by.
I thought there would be a point where it would all hit me like a dollop of porridge in Wallace and Gromit. I'd suddenly grasp the significance of what had happened and declare something profound and impressive. Or collapse in a heap of post traumatic depression.
But it's still as surreal as ever. I sometimes can't believe I've had actual brain surgery - it doesn't sound like the kind of thing that would happen to me.
Now that things are pretty much back to normal, as normal as they ever were anyway, it's got even more surreal. There's a chance that the dealing with it will still surface but I'm starting to think that's it. Just move on. No profound thoughts necessary, it's over now.
Anyway I'm celebrating three months with a packet of ginger nuts.
Update: As my very wise mother pointed out, I should really explain better for anyone in the same recovery boat as me - I'm not quite fully recovered yet. I'm utterly exhausted by the commute into work (which only involves sitting on a bus for an hour). I can't concentrate for more than about three minutes and my mind wanders horribly.
I think what I meant by being back to normal is that I am no longer dwelling on having recently had surgery, and I'm not defining myself by it so much anymore. I've really started to look forward to things and feel much more like me, inside. I'm just ignoring the exhaustion as it seems almost normal now anyway.
Also, I kid myself I'm better (as I clearly did in writing this) and then I realise after a day out the house that I'm not quite there yet. Nearly though!
