I am notorious for my intolerance to anesthesia.
Like that time I told the nurse to get me some g-damn apple juice after my septoplasty.
Or when I screamed at the nurse that I hated her & she could go fuck herself after my breast reduction.
Or when I sobbed uncontrollably for hours after my ablation for no apparent reason.
It was a little embarrassing when I asked the prep nurse if she was going to be my recovery nurse & that I was really, really sorry in advance for anything I said because she seemed like a very nice lady.
Me: “I get a little…mean.”
Doug: “She means combative.”
I shoot him a dirty look.
Me: “I don’t punch people.”
Doug: “She’s verbally abusive.”
Me: “I prefer mean.”
Doug: “Hateful. Malicious.”
Nurse: “Ummm…alright, then.”
She put three yellow sticky notes all over my chart warning nurses not to get too close or take anything too personally.
The good news is that for the first time, I woke up slowly with horrible pain & good pain meds & a nurse that somehow knew the best way to calm me was to sit & pet my hair. So she did for two solid hours until she whispered that if she gave me another dose of meds, I’d have to stay the night & it was a full moon which meant no open beds & wouldn’t it be better to be home than in a group recovery room? Oh, yes. I spent the next two hours in Recovery 2, wrapped in warm towels to stop the post-anesthesia shakes & trying not to send back every pain med I’d ingested.
The left are my wedding rings on Doug’s pinky. I forgot that I’d have to take them off. On the right…well. You’re welcome for that picture, Internet.
The recovery process has been slow & that’s mostly my fault because while lounging on the couch under the influence of strong pain meds sounds fun, it’s really not my bag of chips. Which meant that I started back at work on Monday morning from home, then tried to go into the office on Tuesday. Bad choice. But today is a great turning point - I’m still sore, still really bruised, but walking less like a 95-year-old man & more like a person that is just sore & bruised. I’ve been working my full hours from home since I’m mentally 100% there, just physically unable to hobble into the office. Not to mention that I still can’t wear real pants.
On Tuesday, the doctor called to tell me that the pathology report came back clean & benign.
As expected, but awesome to hear.
Which means ol’ Damien is just a thing of the past, this recovery is a blip in the radar, & I will be fully recovered here in no time.
Happy Friday, friends!
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