I've written quite a few posts in the misty depths of my mind during this convalescence, watched 7 episodes of ST: Enterprise, two episodes of Midsomer Murders, read all of Gene Wolfe's "The Knight," which was an outstanding read, taken more sitz baths than I care to think about, popped Toradol and aspirin and crunched prescription narcotic painkillers like M&Ms, and well, to be quite frank, I've bemoaned my fate and railed at doctors and my own health (or lack thereof) and in general probably suffered more from cabin fever than anything else.
The high points?
- The medical industry sucks. I was treated like just another cow in the abattoir, tho this one had new curtains and that new-building smell and a veritable army of nurses and support personnel who were all every bit as unemotional and uncaring as the new beige carpeting. I emerged with a throat raw from being intubated (meaning I had a large plastic tube shoved rudely and none too carefully into my windpipe) and a surgical wound that is nowhere near as bad as the secondary wounds that were left by the procedure itself. I've never suffered a more Pyrrhic effort in my life.
- The only high point of the entire event? I had a male nurse named Maurice who, to my knowledge was no Gangster of Love, but who was called "Moe" by everyone around him. Unfortunately I never heard "Calling Doctor Howard, Doctor Fine, Doctor Howard" on the overhead, so I was a little let down by that.
- Scott--I did in fact emit a rather feeble Woohoohoo! in the OR. I say "feeble" because I had already received iv drugs to 'calm me,' and the gas, which tasted dirty pinkish blue was already working it's magic on me, but I did get Moe to lift the vile device long enough for me to let out a mildish whoop, then all was dark. I'm afraid to think what the doc might have done had I NOT spake thus.
- If you're ever given the option of gas versus iv, go with the gas. I felt a thousand times more awake in the recovery room. Heck, I even remember most of it.
- I miss my garden. I miss pottering around out there. I miss checking on my crawfish.
- The sun is out in force. I've seen clouds and rain, it even sleeted yesterday for a few frozen minutes, but today that fat old sun is riding high, spreading warmth and bright green everywhere it touches. I long so much to be out in it.
- Smoking a cigar in a tub of hot water can be a lot tricker than it sounds, but when it works it's quite relaxing. Just make sure that a) the toilet is within easy ashing distance or b) no-one will notice the smouldering lump of grey on the bathroom rug.
- I want to live in a tiny English village and be eccentric, because the crazies don't get axed.
Nancy, if you haven't noticed, I let fly with a few Papa stories on your blog, and thank you for the invite! ...I saved the joke for here:
Q: According to Hemingway, why did the chicken cross the road?
A: To die. Alone. In the rain.
Here's looking forward to a return to regular posting.