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Because this is so vague and I haven't been able to come on DU in so long, I figure many of you are wondering who I am. I am one of those types who has never met a test I can't pass, yet I walk into walls, glass doors, columns in shopping malls, other people (it's always so embarrassing too) because I spend most of my time preoccupied and off in my own little world trying to think of ways to save humankind from itself. And of course, even if I did find all the solutions, no one would try it, yet I do it anyhow, because my mind controls me. I don't control it. Case in point, what my dumb ass did that caused me to post this weird percocet laden rant. I know you'll never guess what my dumb ass did, so I'll go ahead and tell ya. I should get you up to date before I answer though. It starts last week. I had surgery last Thursday.
The reason for the "guess what" question is that I forgot to plan for the trouble I would have going online. The deal is, normally, when I get through using my computer for the night, I shut it down AND unplug my dialup connection from the wall, not the back of the computer where it connects to the modem. Thinking the surgery would keep me from being able to bend down and crawl under my computer desk and knowing there would be many summer storms between surgery day and the time I would go online again, I unplugged it as usual. And I must now say loud and clear, "DAMN MSM News!!!" Can I get an amen?
Round One. Getting milked.
I go to the hospital and they immediately want my blood. I don't know if many of you remember my little post a while back about going to the emergency room, but it involved the nurse taking so much blood that I eventually had to ask her if she was going to leave some for me. Well, right before surgery another incredibly hideous experience happened. The nurse/candy striper needed to take some blood. Of course, she searched high and low first to find the biggest one she could find. Once she finally stuck the need in, it started bleeding outside the needle as well as inside. So, naturally, when she popped one of those little vials in, the blood ran very slowly.My stepdad, the nurse and I all watched and anxiously waited for the little tube to fill up. Guess what? It wouldn't fill all the way up. Meanwhile, the blood going outside the needle had begun dripping onto the table. I asked if she could maybe patch the hole in my arm where the blood was dripping outside the needle to get the vial to fill up. I made the Scooby Doo sound. You know the one. It's a sort of question sound when he's shocked. Why? This is no lie. The nurse took the rubber thingy off my arm and when that didn't work, she MILKED the blood out of my arm. She honestly, no lie, grabbed my arm as close to my shoulder as she could, squeezed and milked my arm. I have never seen anyone get their BLOOD milked before. I'm still shocked at that experience.
Round Two. Meeting The Anesthesiologist.
The anesthesiologist comes in and asked the perfunctory questions and the last thing I remember him saying was, "So, you are donating a gall bladder today?" I said yes and noted that I liked his sense of humor. I don't remember anything after that at least not presurgery.
Round Three. Being Gutshot and Seeing the IV Work Backwards.
Surgery went ok, or so says the doctor and all those sadistic night nurses from the hospital. The day nurses were sweethearts. The reason I call the night nurses sadistic is that they made me beg for any water or pain medication and promise to walk in the hall for them when I woke up the next morning every time I asked. They also seemed annoyed with me when I would ask why my IV was working backwards. See, I have always associated IV's with dripping stuff into your arm, not sucking blood out of it. My IV must have been defective. I don't know. It would drip stuff in my arm part of the time, but the rest of the time, it would suck my blood out. You heard that right. Anytime my IV would get clogged with my thick ass blood or run out of whatever that liquid in the IV machine contraption was and needed to be cleared, they would routinely act all haughty if I pushed the "Call Nurse" button or simply ignore me. And that damn IV machine beeped for half an hour every time it happened. Between that torturous device waking me up with the beeping and making me have to get up and go piss every hour on the hour, I got tons of walking in all night long and NO sleep. I have to honestly say, my blood only ran back into the IV tube about a foot before, thankfully, the day nurse would rush in and say she needed to make it stop doing that.
Anyhow, the night nurses must have been trained by either CIA, Republicans, or Nazis judging from their attitude and constant denial of help without humiliation. And of course, when they WOULD give me pain medication, to say the medication was a horse pill would be an understatement. And when I asked to take half now and half later, the strange Asian looking death mistress above my hospital bed would shake her head and grin in that "I don't understand much of what you are saying but I am trying to appear nice" way and basically say "No." I hated her. I've never been prejudiced much, but I'm rethinking my attraction to Asian women after dealing with that bitch. Hopefully, they aren't all that domineering and cruel. As a matter of fact, I am SURE they are not. But that bitch, all I have to say to her is "Mmph!" Up hers.
Round Four. Coming Home and Realizing I Am Not Very Bright After All.
Anyhow, getting away from my rant about how horrible my hospital stay was and back to my original headline here, my stupid ass didn't think to unplug the phone cord from the back of the computer where I could reach it to plug it back in to go online sooner after the surgery and come here to DU. Now, some news has happened and I haven't been able to come here to listen to all you wonderful kind people and get the real news. I have been trapped on the couch with the television on and my aunt daring me to get up or try to do anything myself, or else. She has been a wonderful nurse considering I normally take care of her and she'd a paraplegic. I love her. It's been truly wonderful to be babied and pampered this way. God, I am such a wuss and such a sucker for being babied.
I think I am starting to feel okay, but fnally getting that hole in my belly button the doctor made to stick the bicycle pump or compressor, not sure which he used, in to blow my stomach up to do the laroscopic surgery (why the fuck did he pick right in my belly button hole, can any medical people here answer that one other than he's a sadist too???) anyhow, I *think* my belly button is starting to heal and I'm sure it's not quite as painful as it was originally.
And, BTW, I DID keep my promise from that night nurse nazi bitch and walk in the hallways of the hospital the next morning with my hospital gown from hell with no disernable shape whatsoever hanging open for all the world to see my naked rear end. I do not have "back" as Sir Mix-A-Lot would call it much to my chagrin. What I DO have is this tiny little butt that hardly even cushions me when I sit down on a hard surface. I hate hospital gowns too. The seamstresses who make those should really stop sniffing the glue and go find a pattern with human dimensions and take a few math classes to learn how many holes they need for arms, neck, torso, etc. And while they are at it, could I please bag them to please add a few more of those tie thingies that are impossible to find in the back in different places so people like me won't have to use one hand to drag my IV torture device around with me, use the same elbow to try to hold the nightmarish gown closed so my tits won't hop out to say hello to everyone, and use my other hand, elbow, and my tongue to try to hold the rest of the gown together to try to keep from losing it altogether?
Oh yeah, and the nurses kept asking me over and over if I had passed gas. I mean, if you can picture it, you wake up out of surgery, barely. And the hospital staff make you move yourself (I weigh 120 lbs. soaking wet, why did they refuse to move me?) from the operating table to the bed. They shove me in the hottest room in the hospital. I will not complain about doctors offices and hospitals being too cold any more. The room I was in must have been the portal to HELL. Back to my gas, or lack thereof. They shoved me into my little Hell room and left me there to suffer in agony for I don't know how long. And the thing that seemed to be at the forefront of their mind was whether or not I had passed gas. My stepdad had snuck a Dr Pepper into the room overnight and I answered that I had burped but that I had covered my mouth and said, "Excuse me." to try to keep them from being too angry. I'm not good at acting innocent even when I am. And the nurses would keep asking, "No, have you passed gas from your anus?" Now, anyone who knows me knows that the first thought that would cross my mind when they'd ask that was "No, I haven't, but if I did, I'm quite sure it wouldn't be from Uranus since I have never visited Uranus." And having a hole in my belly button from surgery made it hurt when I laughed. So, I just kept saying no. I mean, who'd admit it? Finally, I had had enough and I asked the nurse, "Why, do I stink?" And, I got laughed at again and she said something about the surgeon blowing up my stomach for the surgery and that the gas needed to come out. That's what the bicycle tire pump/compressor reference is earlier in this post. Well, the gas didn't come out in the hospital, but...since coming home, things have been quite a trip.
Round Five. The Gas, The Cats, Being Trapped in Front of MSM for 3 Days.
I was happy to be home and away from dealing with the Nightmare Nurses from Hell and dragging the IV machine to the bathroom every hour on the hour. At one point, I thought of unhooking myself from that dastardly thing because my logic was, if I didn't have that liquid moving so fast into my arm all day and all night, I wouldn't have to listen to it's constant beeping and keep pissing every hour on the hour. I was happy to be away from it. Not having to go to the bathroom as much didn't last long though. Upon leaving the hospital, I was told to take a stool softener. I don't want to make anyone gag here, but I have never in my life needed or taken stool softeners because I spent the first 34 years of my life with extreme neurosis, anxiety, and the loose stool that often accompanies it. I wanted to dutifully follow all directions from the medical personnel though because extreme pain will make you do that. Well, I took an Ex-Lax. It;s the revenge of the IV machine's shall we say, motivational running, and/or fast walking effect. Well, that stuff really works. I must say. It REALLY works. The main thing is you don't know if it is going to be the gas, and yes the gas has made it's appearance, or if it's going to be a shitripper. And one day after escaping my IV/Mean Nurse/Nonstop Pissing Fest, I was again walking to the shitter on an hourly basis. It's beginning to ease off now. Thankfully...
The first night home, the cats were very happy to see me. The reason this is important to mention is that my cats have this thing for my stomach. It's the first place they like to stand when I sit down. My cats aren't lap cats, they are stomach cats. It's okay by me though, because they knead on my belly and it's soothing to me. It's actually a compliment to me. Well, considering that all my surgery gashes are on my stomach, having the cats all rush my stomach was scary. My aunt to the rescue. Long story short, there are a couple of things my cats are afraid of. My aunt's idea was to grab those things and act like a mad woman anytime the cats tried to get on the couch with me. I slept peacefully knowing she was keeping them off my stomach. Of course, being so sore, watching her do it was too funny, so I slept. And boy did my cats try. They were persistent. First one cat would try to get around her, then another. I swear they were tag teaming the whole thing. I woke up halfway through the first night to see my aunt sitting on her scooter with the big pink duster in one hand and her pincher thingies in the other and her face on the scooter handlebar thingy. The pincher thingies are basically these weird little contraptions that have a little mechanism that you squeeze at one end that causes a tong type effect at the other end. They are used for reaching on the floor and under things to pick stuff up. Anyhow, my aunt was sitting there asleep with both those things still in her hands. I finally woke her up and told her the cats had given up, so maybe she could go get some rest. Didn't last long though. I couldn't use my bathroom because it's a low short bowl. I had to use hers in her room. And the Ex-Lax kicked in less that thirty minutes after she finally got to sleep. Luckily, she has a fan in her bathroom. I hated to put her though that, but had no choice. I had to go had to go had to go right then.
And being trapped in front of the tv has been hell too. My aunt has tinnitus and swears up and down having the sound on on the tv quietens the crickets she constantly hears. So I have been trapped on the couch listening to msm/news/shitty reality shows/etc. ever since the surgery.
Yadda, yadda, yadda. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Tonight, I said damnit, I've had it. I'll crawl if I have to. I crawled down there and plugged the phone line into the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. DU, here I come. I'm coming to see you, baby. I've missed you so much. Next thing you know, out of habit and without thinking, I jumped across to the other side of my bed to turn on the lamp so I could turn my overhead lights out to save power and realized only afterwards what I had done. Ooooh, it hurt my belly. I had to maneuver to get back up too. Ouch. DU was beckoning though. I had incentive.
The good news is: I can eat anything I want to eat now. And I have been pigging out too. I'm just glad I didn't have 2 gallbladders. I would hate to go through this surgery again.
It's great to be back on DU. Aaaah. Relief.
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