Monday, 23 October 2017

My brain tilting towards noir....

I always feel bad for people to whom I am not the worst thing that's happened to them today...

Yay, stitches out!.. I kept making a face, like they were AT LEAST amputating my leg or something, and the nurse kept asking: will you manage? ... In truth, out of eight pulls, I only felt two itchy pricks. Like ... It didn't hurt AT ALL. Not even a bit. I apologized, saying I make the exact same face even when they take my blood: the reanimation team needs to be on stand-by... :D Being a drama queen is good for my soul!

Thursday, 19 October 2017

post-op #braindead :D

Still remarkably brain dead on vast occasions. Not all the time, but LOTS of time. Earlier I was gonna finish a project I'm working on for Tinka and couldn't remember which the fuck one is a Photoshop icon. Took me over two minutes staring at them. by which time I, of course, forgot what I was supposed to be doing anyway. 

Pretty pretty buttons ... but which one? Which one?

Tuesday, 17 October 2017

Sunday, 15 October 2017

The OR experience

Symbolic pic, that's not really me. But it's what it looks like. Freaky as fuck.

I mentioned before that the first time I had a minute, non-invasive procedure a few years back, they gave me a downer to calm me - not that I needed it, first time in, but just as common procedure. I remember everything got warm and funny. The girl who was being gurneyed out was smiling and talking happily to herself while still unconscious, so I figured they gave us good stuff. They should have given me one this time, because I REALLY needed one, I was freaking out, but they forgot.
I kind of thought, though, beforehand, that it may be interesting to experience the whole thing un-stoned. And this is how that goes:

When the time comes, they ask you to lie down on the bed and two nurses gurney you into a lift, taking you to the basement. I don’t know whether all ORs are always in the basement, because a basement is the place that is going to stay operational <sic> the longest during natural disasters or air strikes. The antechamber of the place was very dark, but I could see people prepping in the room ahead. They are all dressed in green, with hats on and masks. I saw a male surgeon I’ve seen before exit, he greeted me and I greeted him back. An older lady said: Good day!, approaching me with another gurney. Because she didn’t get a response from me – I must have been looking around too intently – she repeated. I grinned and said: good day to you!
                They made me switch, slowly and carefully, onto the slightly higher gurney, at which point the other two nurses bid me farewell. The older lady (probably nurse, but also in green) wrapped me in a sheet. She said: look what I have for you! Latest fashion! and we put my hair up and under a paper cap. I was pushed into the OR. I used to find the super big round lamps scary, but this one wasn’t turned on, so it was okay. The anaesthesiologist was there and also his… assistant, I assume? - Who was a young woman. They were talking humorously about which drug to use and he chose the latter, and she said good, because she was all out of the former.
                One thing that surprised me was the anaesthesiologist saying: “You’re allergic to dust mites and cocoa and not much else, right?” and I was: “How would you know that?” .. I hadn’t mentioned that to anyone in 20 years – those tests were done when I was a kid and I hadn’t taken them seriously, because they aren’t real allergies, they just make me itchy or upset my tummy. Same as milk does or ascorbic acid. Nothing really threatening and no fucking way am I not eating ice-cream or chocolate :D I was surprised he’s done his homework and found those records. It was impressive.
                We joked about the maul as I’ve mentioned in the previous post. The older lady made me sit on the operating table with the legs-up thingie, the gynaecological kind that is never fun to see when you enter a room, and they began to undo my gown. I think they could see I kept covering up my modesty, because then they just sort of let me keep my chest covered and put a sheet over my privates. I don’t really feel very shy in hospitals, regarding my lower bits, it just feels weird about the chest. But almost all of the people touching me had warm hands, so it’s okay. The anaesthesiologist put the diodes on my shoulders and even touched my boob to put one on the torso, but he made an effort to do so simply lifting the gown, not removing it – he was polite about it, not a robot. I don’t know whether or not these people are rude when you’re out, but while I was awake, they were utmost kind.
                The anaesthesiologist kind of fixed my cap to not sit so low on my forehead, kid of adjusted it. It felt akin to someone stroking my hair to assure me. During, the young assistant put the needle in the back of my palm and actually, though it stung like a bitch, she did it really well, because later on I was able to sleep completely comfortable with it in any position. I know sometimes those things sting all night long. She then wrapped my arm in a cloth and kept it resting on a side table.
                … Don’t remember much else. I think my surgeon came in by then and was talking to me, but am not sure. Maybe. Probably. I do the same thing my dad does when he’s scared or uncomfy – he tries to make sexy jokes to appeal to people’s sympathy. It works a lot of the times. Sandra said not to look down on people who show their humanity when they are on their back, or pretend to be some sort of super woman. In fact it felt good to let go and show fear. The staff were very understanding.
                General is a little less, haha. He keeps getting upset if I cry. I cried a little while ago when we were showering me and it just felt bad. Not painful or truly unpleasant, just bad. Everything felt wrong – the water, the weight of my stomach, the feel of my genitals, the odd plasters on my tummy, which I didn’t dare look at yet. So I cried for about a minute. He says I’m abusing the signals for distress. It’s because I am always a super woman when I’m around him and he’s not used to seeing me this fucked up. Poor G. He wants me to walk the dog and go to the store already, first day home. Not allowed to be a plebe around him :D

Saturday, 14 October 2017

The pleb of pain :D

These were certainly two of the most stressful and painful days I’ve ever experienced … since the previous worst two days and until the next two days…. :P
Okay, so, in short. Lots of you know I had to go into surgery, but what you don’t know is while normal people go in, have the surgery and go home, I have to make a total fucking drama about it. ‘Tis how I roll :P
They called me in Tuesday and asked if I’m okay to skip the line as an opening showed up. First thing which happened then was my lips instantly developed a mother of all putrid blisters and I now look like I have a mutinous walnut on my lip. Since – you know, I’m a calm and Zen person whose dermatological symptoms of neurosis never manifest.

I checked in Thursday morning and they dressed me in a little night shirt with flowers on it. I hadn't eaten anything, which was stupid, because I totally could have had - my next two meals were soup water and 3 liters of water to drink. Oh, and two pills to help me pass stool and boy was I shitting myself before midnight. Then I had to shower (I really did) and somebody stabbed me in a stomach with an injection of anti-clotting something. Motherfuckers! That stung!! What have people got so against my tummy!
       They had a reservation regarding the herpes, as inserting a tube in my throat my transfer the infection inward. Just put a fucking plaster over it, I thought – you think if you postpone this I won’t come back covered in scabs?! Had to tap that with alcohol until it dried up. I now look like someone socked me spectacularly. Then I managed to sleep some, even though a girl who went in that day had some nasty complication and was weeping, all fucked up, in the next room.
        Come morning, I had to visit a lady who shaved the top of my jungle, showered again with some nasty deal of soap, which dried my skin completely. Had to dress into the gown that showed my bumm. The doctor also wanted to check me up again. It was so funny, really, and a little tragic: she said: “So, you want me to take out your tubes? They'll only bug you further on, and if you don't plan to have kids ...”
And I was like: "What?! NO! I want eight kids! I want babies right now!"
        So she understood that, no, I choose not to be effectively sterilized as of yet. The rest went as Aprile said: doc easily removed the mess, even though my uterus seemed to be doing something like, I dunno, lining up all the mucus, as it does, so the walls were thicker. You know, pretending nothing's up, just a normal day, the fickle bitch.
       What they forgot to do, though, was premedicate me with something to calm me down. Just forgot. ME! The most neurotic human on the planet! So I had another panic attack and cried like a little bitch and wanted to run away and go home. Luckily, that passed after five minutes.
       The coolest was the anesthesiologist guy: some hot young dude who seemed to notice I was nervous. (Like, who isn’t?)
I asked him to make sure they don't start anything until I am under. He said not to worry, he has this maul near hand and if they see the drugs have not taken, he'll just whack me. Now I was REALLY worried. What maul? Is it iron? Is it rubber? Is it the one from the circus that makes something go ding?! when you hit it?
I told him: "You, you just make sure you don't lose me in the darkness."
"What darkness?"
"Make sure you find me and bring me back. You have the one job!"
(We were speaking in English now, because it's funny and sexy for some reason and people were laughing.) "I do and I don't plan to screw it up!"
A young operating assistant person stabbed me in the hand with a needle and I cursed, then apologized and the guy said: ye, that was the worst bit. It's all fun after this.
He said I'll get a bit dizzy and I got so dizzy my eyes must have seemed like I was crazy. I said: Oh, look, Elvis!
He said: Now she's injecting you with the drug that will make you sleep. You have five seconds to decide what you'll be dreaming about.
I started to say: "I can't tell you EVERYTHING, doctor....--" but that was it for me..

I woke up in a closer-monitoring room, tubes eveywhere, under a mask, but indeed it was Toni's voice I heard first. Whether or not the nurse was mocking me when she said: she was so doped up! She kept insisting to be put in the room closest to the entrance, because her husband's face is the first thing she wants to see!
I don't know if that was true, but it totally sounds like something an unconscious drama queen me would do, so …
It was sooooo weird being half awake. If it wasn't for the damn feeling like I'm JUST about to throw up, it would be awesome. I kept trying to talk to Toni, but kept getting too bored with my own sentences and just napping off for a few seconds. Like: Oh! I love you! I'm still alive! I'm so h---- This is so boring, fuck him. I'm off to sleep...
LOL. He was probably there for five minutes, then left until visitation hours.

I lay in that bed, listening to my oxygen bubble, watching my vital signs go bip bip, thinking: this isn't bad at all. I can totally live with this. It only hurts a little.
But then Toni came back and we chatted and I was being super brave, at which point the meds totally abandoned me and I was starting to gasp and sweat and cry.
It was a lesson in pain taught in a hurry.
Thanks to my girl Ape, I was able to have this conversation:
Me: Doctor, I think the meds are wearing off.. It's starting to hurt. Bad.
Doctor: How bad is it?
Me: It's really fucking bad. I'm starting to gasp and it feels like I'm going to vomit.
Doctor: From 1 to 10, how much would you say?
Me: It's bad, it's like 3.6, maybe 3.8.
Doctor (slightly surprised): Er... You actually said that really well.
General: So it doesn't hurt that bad, then?
Me: Dude, 8 is going into labor, 9 is Landing in Normandy!...

Later the nurses came to give me a 'gynecological wash', which basically meant they shoved an iron potty under me, poured some warm water on my privates and used a long pincer to wipe me a little with a cotton or something. I felt like I was sitting in a pool of blood beforehand, but in truth not a drop, just few drops of blue. All this was unusually pleasant, even the position. The funny thing was when the water hit my clit it totally made me want to pee, so the nurses left the potty under me and turned on the tap and for five minutes I tried to talk my clit into waking up, but it just wouldn't happen. They walked me to the bathroom - as soon as they sat me upright I burped louder than anything, all the gasses coming right up... Peeing didn't hurt at all, it still doesn't. It was just blue. They explained why; I forget.

In retrospect I’m glad they didn’t dope me before the surgery, I really enjoyed that part. The parts I enjoyed least were the syringe stabs in the tummy, brief as they were, and being nauseated. The rest was perfectly fine. People were marvelously kind and professional, supportive and patient. I lay awake at night, mostly, listening to them. I assume whether a hospital at night is tranquil or scary depends on how big the hatchet a guy chasing you is swinging …

They gave me IV ketonal twice and then a pill of ketonal and then I took two Analgins and so far other than being uncomfortable, I feel great. My diaphragm hurt somewhat awful and they said it would, because of the bloating of the tummy, but I didn’t know why my right shoulder hurts the worst and then Ape explained all the upper abdominal and diaphragm nerves come together in the right shoulder. That makes impossible amount of sense, because I just assumed someone tugged me. Damn. Body is a really odd machine.
And so, come Saturday, I was free to leave. They didn't give me anything, stingy fuckers, to take home. It's a stingy hospital, haha, they just see if you're able to stand, slap a letter of dismissal on your forehead and send you home. General didn’t like that at all, he is worried should I fall into another of those pain-related fits of nausea, he won’t be able to do anything, but I am doing fine, really. I think I’m going to pull through without a hiccup. Actually, I can’t hiccup, because that really hurts. I can’t blow my nose as I enjoy, because that would probably blow me up.
I’m totally exaggerating, obviously. The laparoscopy wounds are miniature; it’s just one stich per a stab. And I have super healthy blood, which probably means I’m halfway to being healed. G came to collect me, but I am perfectly able to walk, even get on our ladder bed, sit, stand, all of it. Pee. Eat something. I just tire easily, nap all the time, and everything is sore.
Not to mention my stupid lips, which literally feel heavy with scabs. I look like a mutant.Now not only can I not have sex for 4-6 weeks, no Bjs for at least a week!... Poor G. He's making me soups and walking the dog and getting me vaggy napkins from the store. Adorable little fucker. I can tell he didn't enjoy seeing off my high horse. But I'm back now. ;)

Monday, 9 October 2017

Enough for tonight :) Going abstract ... :p

The 'Countess of variety' shoot ... Part 1 - mostly lake stuff ..