Last Friday I followed the scriptural advice found in Matthew, "Wherefore if thy hand or thy foot offend thee, cut them off, and cast them from thee." However, as my offensive gallbladder was not readily accessible, I had someone else do the plucking.
We are doing well. The Professor's saintly (she will protest this apt adjective) mother has come to our rescue. She also has been following the injunctions of the scriptures. She has been "impart(ing) of (her) substance to the poor...according to that which (s)he hath, such as feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and administering to their relief...according to their wants." She's thrown in some diapering of the odiferous, reading to the bored, and cleaning of the bedrooms (a miracle worthy of any aspiring saint).
I have been working hard at not working. Sometimes this takes great effort. (At other times, I'm a natural.) Now that my tummy is healing and my cough is subsiding, I'm doing well. (For the record, abdominal surgery and a cough/cold that interferes with sleep are a bit of synergistic misery.)
Now I'm at the confusing part of recovery. I feel much better, but not 100%. I'm not quite sure how much to do and how long to play the recovering invalid. Thankfully, my own personal miracle worker is leaving me well stocked, in a clean house, with the laundry done. We are very grateful.