Surgery Number Two

My second surgery I scheduled for 10 am. This allowed me to get my roommate up in time to ride out to Ballas with me, saving me the trouble of involving my father and sparing my mother the 45 minute drive from Cottleville to Tower Grove.
Unfortunately the three of us made for an awkward group.

Things are always easier when you know what to expect. However the switch in out patient surgery centers seemed like a down grade. This building had several functions and things were immediately confusing. I was confident that if we followed the signs that said surgery center then we'd eventually find our way. My mother however thought it was necessary to continue to ask questions every time we passed someone who might know where we were headed. And maybe i was a little drunk still. I didn't mean to get trashed the night before but things just worked out like that. And more than drunk on alcohol was i drunk on memories from the night before spent with my current obsession. Forcing my way over to his place allowed me something pleasant to focus my thoughts on as I lay in the post opt bed watching the iv drip antibiotics into my veins. And for some reason he was extra special that night.

The first nurse we encountered was overly chipper. To the point where she was just rude and clearly disingeniuous. Her shiny face and dark purple lipstick didn't help either. She spoke with a tone that implied "get the fuck out my office and go wait in the hall" but actually only said "Please go out to the waiting area and we'll be right with you" The second medical professional was not much better. For whatever reason they ask you what your profession is. For lack of a better term I scrawl down designer. Which to the HGTV watching, couch populating crowd automatically points to interior design. She asks "do you ever dream about being on HGTV??!!" Um not really that sort of designer lady... "Ohhh" disappointment washes over her face " i thought you were the type of designer that designed colors." huh, no, um what does that fucking mean... anyway. Moving on. Please. Just bill my account ok lady and send us back to the waiting area.

Justin escapes, promising to come back at 1:15, over come with the strange environment and tension from my mother who is clearly pissed that i'm still... well drunk. I don't think she noticed me being stoned. Or if she did, couldn't quite put her finger on the problem. Plus i'm pretty sure the overwhelming smell of booze probably covered that up pretty good. My new iphone kept me busy until rude nurse number 3 came to take me into surgery prep.

Through the doors they direct you to a small changing room. Give you a plastic bag, a plastic cup to piss into for a pregnancy test, and a gown built one size doesn't fit anyone. I'm having a hell of time with the gown. Snaps were missing, the little tie thingies didn't line up. At first I had it on backwards, then turning it around I couldn't get anything to close up and tie or snap to ensure some sort of decency. I told the nurse I'd rather walk around naked. She didn't get the joke and said i could if i wanted but then after an awkward moment, helped me tie up. Followed by a 10 minute struggle where i managed to dribble out about 3 drops of pee. Sure I wasn't pregnant, as I've been sex free for more than one period at this point, the process seemed pointless. I stopped drinking last night at 1:15. I was supposed to stop drinking at 12 am. But I got carried away. Then looked at my clock, said oh shit, and put the beer down. (I lied to everyone that asked when I last ate anything) Needless to say by 11 oclock the next day i was dry.

Apparently you're not supposed to eat or drink before surgery because if you happen to throw up what is in your stomach you can drown yourself.

I asked. I was curious.

Despite the annoying lack of privacy in the center, the nurses behind the scenes were far less nasty than the hags up front. I got a lot of "oh honey, you're so young" and she wrote something on my chest. Which later turned out to be the word "yes". This again was to ensure the doctor operated on the correct side. But later when I discovered the word I found it particularly amusing. Enough so to take a photo with my fancy new phone.

I don't remember the operating table from the first go around. I think because they gave me some injection that caused me to forget. But with my downgraded center I wasn't given this luxury. This time, I clearly remember being wheeled into the OR. The bright light above the table, this vacuum hose thing that i can't even imagine what it might be for (well yes i can, but i'm not going to think about it) The transfer to the or table. I then drifted off to sleep thinking about rolling around in bed with bw. Thank you for that, it was a lovely moment dude. I guess it was my happy place. A place i want to go back to, but can't at my own will due to extreme aloof'ity of said person. BlaH!

Before I went in to the center I developed this extreme craving for chicken wings. Unable to eat that morning this craving became an overwhelming and intense desire. As soon as i woke up from the anesthesia I engaged the nurse and my mother in a 10 minute conversion about chicken. After this it was then decided that we had to go to Hooters. It was after all just around the corner. And how very poetic.