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. ;)