Ha, after that title, that’s all I should say and logoff. It would save me the humiliation of actually trying to write something coherent on my Treo and failing -either due to the bootleg Treo charger my mom’s friend bought from “this guy on 125th” street or because my brains are mush. I lost a post to the former yesterday…though since it was all about how they stuck a drain bag in my side after my surgery on Wednesday -while I was unconscious-yet some genuis decided to remove it at noon, you know, the height of my waking hours, you all might have thought the post’s failings was due to the latter. Gosh, I put the dichotomy so far away from the conclusion I forget what the choices were. Definitely a latter problem.
Well, yesterday was definitely the low point of my journey through the seedy medical underbelly. And considering that the journey starts with me half naked on my private bathroom floor holding on to the porcelain god of puke for dear life and includes a taxi cab ride to my mother’s house where I cruised a mile and a half with my head out the window, the driver handing me paper towels and hitting every pot hole in the ECB at nine mph, my proclamation of yesterday being the low…really is saying something. I called my mommy at 3 a.m., like any good pre-teen child to ask her to come get me, after the nursing staff was less than responsive to my “seriously people I have to go to the bathroom NOW” midnight call went unanswered for an hour. My doctor practically threw my spigmometer thing at me and said his 90-year-old grandmother could do better and “she’s been dead for a year and a half” and then my surgeon was all your oxygen saturation is “barely 80, if you don’t start walking and breathing into that spigmometer thing your going to die of pneumonia in here.” My throat was still pretty sore from the Wednesday night breathing tube and the midmorning barefoot hose down, but I rasped something about being unable to walk or breathe with a drain tube hanging out of my side. And we all know how that turned out.