Damaged goods and no Post-OP recovery

Twelve hours after my operation I was back at home with a three-page list of things I couldn’t eat, indications NOT to be laying down and many, many walks to help my stomach move…function… you know what I mean: pelvic movements.
What a crappy recovery is this?
I wasn’t even being pampered.
Other than not being allowed to carry anything, I was just like my old self… except without an organ… and four holes in my stomach… and a pillow stick to my behind for occasional ache… and pain-killers (which luckly, improved my mood… I’m talking really strong ones).
My doctor really went out of his way to make this recovery as mild and unnecessary as possible, I was hoping for a: laying-on-my-back-food-to-my-room-TV-all-you-want type of recovery, instead I got the: walk-all-you-can-move-your-valves-release-the-gases-eat-healthy type.
And I was even allowed to travel!
I mean… what was this doctor thinking to allow me to get on a plane for a twenty-hour flight? Doesn’t he have one iota of compassion?
In Buenos Aires we were suffering the highest temperatures ever and I couldn’t even go into the pool, but a plane was okay… I tell you, medicine is going down the toilet (regards to my twin sister, the doctor-to-be in the family).
And the worst part was the annoying family follow-up phone calls… people always manages to ask the same thing when you’re sick:
How did this happen? (abrupt pain… really unexpected… no, I didn’t feel anything before this episode) Did it hurt? (I was medicated as a horse) Does it hurt now? (still medicated as a horse).
Don’t people know that if you had a stomach operation, when you talk you build up the gases in your belly? I had to reduce my answers to one to two syllables at the end:
sudden... no…hmpt!
They called the least talkative soon-to-be-recovered patient in the history of the gallbladder-removal-operation.
So now, I have to find joy in eating a lousy apple (not even the serpent wanted this boring fruit)… I fell like an eighty-year-old who’s not allowed to eat anything for fear of her to die… I'm completely attuned with my grandfather’s complaints now, I’m a twenty-five year old housewife, looking for a job in a new city, with a freezing cold weather and I can’t even have a warming heavy meal for the next decade or so…
My sweet-tooth is retiring early; so long dear friend… you’ll be missed.