The day was perfect for surgery. Rainy, windy, disgusting. Perfect. Perfect for me to lie around sleeping off my anesthesia. Which, I have to say was awesome! The anesthesia, I mean. Honestly, I’m so glad I didn’t cave to peer pressure when I was a teen. Because there would have been a problem. A serious problem.
I woke up at 5:30. Because I had to pee. But I didn’t get up to pee because I was too lazy. So I laid there thinking that in less than 3 hours a surgeon would be cutting little holes in my knee. A knee that I’ve always liked. A knee that on our second date, DH commented on how cute it was. I was wearing shorts. Get your head out of the gutter. But I wasn’t nervous. The morning of my hysterectomy I was like a child gripping the doorway. Kicking and screaming. Not wanting to go. But this definitely was less invasive. And if I survived one bout of anesthesia, I knew I would survive another.
The nurses were super, super nice. A little too nice, actually. I was hoping for a bit of a Nurse Ratchet so I had something to talk about. But, no. It didn’t happen that way. I got to change in an area where the only thing separating me from all the other patients was a curtain. “Everything off except your undies. Gown, opening in back. Robe, opening in front.” I’m just glad I opted for the grannies with a touch of lace instead of my usual thongs. The entire Operating Room probably didn’t need to see my ass cheeks. Which, by the way, no amount of running makes those suckers go up to where they were once upon a time.
They asked me the same questions over and over again. I signed my life away a million times over and told them they better try to save my life if I die. Okay, I didn’t say that. But I did say I would have a blood transfusion. That’s the same thing, right?
They wheeled me into a room. A room they take you to before you go to the Operating Room. Again, only separated by a curtain from the other patients. It was like a cattle call or something. Then the party began. The needle containing what I could only describe as liquid heaven was inserted into the back of my hand. “Ooh, I like this, I wouldn’t mind having a little of this every day, I don’t seem to care about a thing” was the last comment I remember saying to the doctor. Or was it a nurse? I don’t know. They were all starting to look the same to me.
What seemed like 30 seconds went by. The first face I saw was my doctor’s. Asking if I was okay. But boy did I feel good. I’m sure I said something silly or stupid because that’s what I do. But I guess I’ll never know. Which makes me kinda sad. They should let you record these things. Really. I’m not kidding. I wonder if someone would have taken notes if I asked them? This shall be one of my biggest regrets.
So, here I am. With my downloaded Cow Bell app, having DH wait on me. He’s being a very good servant man. I’m sure by the end of this weekend, I will be on his last nerve. But until then, a little higher to the left honey, oh and would you be a prince and fetch me a bucket. This Vicodin makes me feel like I’m going to vomit. Because my nerve block wore off and I’m not feeling so great anymore. Where’s that Liquid Heaven when I need it?