One Week Post-Op: The Strange, Twisting Road of Healing

It’s been a week since I had surgery to repair three hernias. The procedure was laparoscopic, under general anaesthetic, and involved the implantation of mesh across the umbilical region and both lateral abdominal walls. The team did a good job, and on paper, the operation was a success.

But as any recovering body will tell you, paper isn’t flesh.

This past week has been one of the more disorienting stretches I’ve experienced. There’s no single trajectory with healing. It doesn’t flow like a river — it stutters, doubles back, swells unexpectedly, and sometimes goes dry. I want to share some of the transitions I’ve felt — physical, emotional, and metabolic — not just as data, but as lived experience.

Sharp Pains and Surprise Guests

At the one-week mark, I began experiencing sharp, sudden pains in my abdomen, especially near the surgical sites. This wasn’t something I expected this far in. I had stopped all painkillers shortly after returning home, and while I initially felt okay, these zaps and stabs emerged later. Apparently, this is par for the course: nerves regenerating, tissue reorganising, scar tissue forming, and the immune system still integrating mesh as a foreign (but hopefully tolerated) object. There’s a kind of internal renovation going on, and occasionally the builders drop a hammer.

I’ve also noticed a strange emotional flatness creeping in. It’s not quite depression, but definitely a dimming of my usual life force. Some of this is likely biochemical: I’ve been off carbs, which means less insulin, which means less serotonin transport into the brain. Add to that no gym, no saunas, no cold plunges, no long walks — all of which normally boost endorphins and dopamine — and it’s no wonder I’ve been feeling like a slightly deflated version of myself.

The Mesh Question

There’s also this strange awareness of the mesh now inside me. I know it’s doing its job, reinforcing weak points, but it does feel odd to think of having a permanent implant. I’ve read about the body sometimes rejecting mesh or forming chronic inflammation around it. So far, no red flags, but I can’t help but wonder if some of this internal discomfort is my immune system checking its new roommate for bad habits.

Metabolic Mayhem and the French Toast Incident

A few days ago, Finn made French toast using sweet Japanese bread. It was the most carb-laden meal I’ve had in six months. It was bloody delicious. And yes, it kicked off a day of minor carb chaos: noodles, sweet bread, more butter, more gutting. What was interesting wasn’t just how good it tasted — it was how much it didn’t satiate me. Once I started, I could’ve kept eating forever. It wasn’t food anymore; it was theatre, it was dopamine, it was nostalgia, it was rebellion.

And that was the lesson: refined carbs don’t fill you up, they just open the door wider.

The next day, I was inflamed. Not in pain exactly, but heavy. My fasting blood sugar was still in the mid-6s, which led me to dig deeper and learn that post-op insulin resistance is actually normal. The body creates a temporary resistance to help prioritise glucose for healing. So even that, which felt like a step backward, turned out to be part of the arc.

Energy, Neurotransmitters, and the Bath as a Peak Experience

By day six, I had this realisation that a one-hour bath was the most exciting thing I’d done all day. My drive was gone. My usual routines of movement, cold immersion, and creative flow were offline. I felt foggy, slow, wrapped in cotton wool.

There are scientific reasons for this:

• Reduced movement = reduced lymphatic flow and inflammation clearance

• Lower serotonin and dopamine from carb restriction and inactivity

• Elevated inflammatory cytokines disrupting brain reward pathways

But it doesn’t always help to know the reasons when you’re in it. Sometimes healing is boring. Sometimes it’s ugly. And sometimes it just feels like someone muted your life.

Returning to the Path

This morning, I woke up and wanted to stay under the covers until lunch. But I got up. I made broth. I wrote this.

Healing isn’t linear. It isn’t clean. It doesn’t obey your timeline or respect your to-do list. But it is happening. Under the fog, under the fatigue, under the temptation to slip, the body is doing its ancient, brilliant work.

I’m getting back on the straight and narrow today. Back into ketosis. Back into quiet, nutrient-dense food. Back into discipline. But also: back into compassion. Because this last week hasn’t been a failure. It’s been a lesson in transition. And the road back doesn’t start at a sprint.

It starts here, with honesty, broth, and a better understanding of the road I’m on.