Post op

Not too sure if I am still a bit under the influence or I am just glad to be back, but regardless of feeling - not like having LOW blood sugar but like having NO blood sugar - I am rather great. It certainly makes it all alright to be in someone's arms again, kissed much, warm and fed *anything* you desire. Me being me, having been fed only some very healthy tasteless food for the past days, I asked for the exact opposite and got plenty of McDonald's.  Heh. :p   Perks of being the patient. :))

         On Wednesday, the day I signed in, I remember being so nervous, I once stood on my own foot for twenty minutes and didn't realize it until I rendered myself immobile. But it wasn't a bad day - they took me in and were all very pleasant, changing my clothes and taking me to my room and explaining everything. Between a good book, some knitting, cell phone internet and texting with a bunch of hommies, I was copping a lot better than I would have been without. My roomies chatted merrily and there was plenty gossips going about. I now know a whole lot about other women's intimate problems, that's for sure. Am far too lazy to roam the nightly halls, explore, chat with nurses or try and do anything ink-worthy - and besides.... Anyone who's ever had to take a laxative and then hold it in for 30 minutes for good measure, knows that the longest *20* minutes of your life. I kind of fell asleep after that episode. People like me don't have to worry about not being able to sleep very often. We tend to regenerate admirably when feeling safe, warm and waiting. Any chance we get, we're out like a fat kitten.

            Supposedly Lyra, now home alone, managed to get out of the cage on Thursday morning and savagely massacred some of the trash and some of General's work documents and was then on her absolute best behavior when he got back home, but I don't remember most of that report, because I was out cold when post-op General was telling me back-home-stories. 

          The operation was rather lovely - again - they gave me a drug to calm me down (though knitting while your hands are shaking has it's privileges) and changed my gown yet again into a tiny cover-like-shirt. After that most things were ceilings and nostrils, lots of women wearing green scrubs and masks talking to me, gently, kindly, petting my arms and hair, covering me in dark green sheets... I enjoyed the rustle of linens and the massive lamps of the OR, some small talk about my tattoos and blood type and so on... The anesthesiologist lady was particularly friendly and talked me through the whole 'going under' phase - she ordered me to think of a happy place, but quickly, because I'm about to run out of time. That shit certainly works fast! None of that slowly drifting into the void that my dad is always so afraid of... I'm out like a switch every time. 

           There must have been some complications afterwards, probably just after the procedure, because I have some bruises on my arms and face and one of my eyes has a tiny pool of blood, though all I remember is that I tried to push out the tube, throwing up and they tried to push it back in. There was lots of shouting and they scraped my throat. Also, when in recovery, my blood lacked the oxygen, so I had to keep the mask on longer and I became spotty with some allergy. None of that really means anything to me. Whatever trouble I caused them, they seemed to handle it fine. I'm still here ;)

           Unlike my roommates, who were sick and couldn't sleep (and one who was just awful, behaving like a child along with her internet-hysterical parents - and we were all women around 30.  I slept all the time. I slept thorough the entire Thursday day and night and most of Friday morning. Waking up for food and to answer my phone so that General wouldn't raid the ward was more a mental effort than a physical want. With every passing hour I could feel myself getting more and more normal. Well, normal probably isn't the best choice of words. Nor is 'better'. Let's say - back on track.

          General came on Friday morning to collect me and eventually they gathered all of my clothing and paperwork and released me, but then I slept again in the car and as he had to return to work for a while, I slept during his absence also. Friends got me ice-cream and we went for a tiny walk (short, but time-consuming. Takes me fifteen minutes to get up the stairs.), mildly propelled by farting and self-demeaning cynical remarks on my part :)) Sorry I don't look like a sea-sick ballerina when I'm sick. I look as if I am really messed up, bloated, pale, my hair oily and my jaw drooping, bags under my eyes, my voice slow. But give me another good night and I should be spiff and spam and back on the street again. The catholics celebrate today as the day (3pm) their Zohan kicked it. I've an urge to watch the Last Temptation of Christ...  Also, to eat a lot of chocolate eggs. We may go to see my parents tomorrow about that. We'll see how that goes. :)