Chest Vagina

For comedy purposes the seven inch incision on my chest will now be referred to as my "chest vagina."  I think it deflects the seriousness of my surgery.  That, and my wound is like a vagina.  It has what the doctors call "drainage."  In other words, it bleeds not unlike a vagina.

I can't bring myself to look at my chest vagina, but when I took a peek it did kind of look like a vagina.  Especially during "that" time of the month.  It is also aggravating and makes me bitch, again, not unlike a real vagina. 

So like a real vagina, I only hope to bleed for a week before it stops.  Until then, I will keep taping maxi-pads to my chest.  I will keep my chest vagina clean so I don't have that, "not so fresh" feeling.

I Left My Gall Bladder In Chattanooga

I am now back home resting in my favorite recliner.  I am in a little pain, but overall I am comfortable.  It is now I have come to the realization that I now have a giant chest vagina.  Oh, I am also menstraighting so I need to change my "pad" every day.

I am going through the five stages of grief.  Either that, or I am just being a dick. 

1.  Denial.  It's not that bad.  It was just a gall bladder.  People have that done all the time. 

In reality...... the damn thing almost killed me.  It went gange-green, and I was almost septic. 

2.  Anger.  I can't be sick.  I can't afford this.  Why now?  The roads are just now clearing up.  How am I supposed to deal with this.

Again, all valid thoughts, but my health should really come first.

3.  Bargaining.  I'll just get back on the road soon.  I'm sure they'll want me to get back to work quick. 

In reality, I can't drive on the drugs I am on.  I can't even do my job with this giant cut in my chest.

4.  Depression.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  I am going to be out of work for two months, and I have no money.  I almost died.  I have a giant bleeding chest vagina.  Nobody loves me.  Everybody hates me.  I guess I'll eat some motherfucking worms.

At this point I just need a double dose of Zoloft.

5.  Acceptance.  I am going to have to face the fact that I am now disfigured.  I am going to be off work for at least two months.  I can look at stuff on Ebay, but I can't buy anything. 

I can only control my recovery, and at least I can go to Grandma's house in April.  I just can't eat all the pie.

Get the Damn Thorazine

I didn't sleep at all last night.  The World War Two veteran next door was busy fighting the Japanese all night.  He kept all the nurses busy so I didn't get my meds on time which made me a very angry Adrian.  I was ready to go over, and hit him with Thorazine shot affixed to the end of a bayonet.  Instead, the nurses covered his hands in gauze to the size of boxing gloves. 

Here's a few things I don't want to re-live.  First, the doctor removing the gauze and packing from my cut.  Second, the doctor removing the drainage tube from my wound.  Third, any amount of blood flowing from my wound (even though that is normal and healthy.)  Fourth, I just want to be rid of these saline bags.  I hate having to pee every hour, on the hour. 

Frankly, I just want out of here.  I want to eat chicken wings.  They don't have to be spicy.  They don't even have to be good.  I just want some of that delicious food they show on TV.  The doctor is supposed to release me today.  I don't know when, but I hope it is soon. 

Don't I Get A Penguin With This Surgery?

Last time I was in the hospital I got a penguin.  I was of course, seven years old.  But I got a penguin.  I named him Junior after my Dad.  He is a Junior.  I did end up getting a guitar book.  They were having a book fair downstairs, and I found a good medium level guitar book.  So Dad bought that for me.

Today was a rough day.  There's a World War 2 veteran next door, and he's having flashbacks due to the Japanese earthquake.  All the nurses are trying to calm him down, and I find myself hours past the time my medications are due.  My Doctor came by, and he removed my packing and drainage tube while I had no pain medication in me.  Still, that wasn't as bad as when I looked at my cut on my chest.  I should not have done that.  It's okay when it's someone else, but it's terrifying when it's your chest. 

The good news is that I will be leaving the hospital on Tuesday morning.  I will finally get rid of this dang I.V. bag.  It makes me have to pee every hour or so.  I'll just be glad to take a shower.  They won't let me take a shower because they believe it gives me a higer risk of infection.  So I am going to scrub like I have never scrubbed.  Here's to soap and deoderant.

I Wear No Pants

So this is day six of me being in the hospital, and I have yet to wear pants.  I'm not even wearing underwear.  But dammit!  I better make sure that I am wearing my ugly yellow socks with super track grip.  This place is so strange.  Everyone wants to know about my poo.  They get disappointed when they don't get the answer they like when regarding my poo.  Why?  It's my poo.  It's not their poo.  What do they need to know about my poo for anyway?

I hope to get back to the Covenant Hotel sometime tonight.  My Doctor (Dr. Mena) will be making the rounds tonight at around 5 PM.  If I don't get out tonight, then it will be sometime tomorrow. 

Dad was pretty nice to me today.  We went down to a book fair that was held downstairs, and he bought me a huge guitar lesson book.  It's what I would call a medium level book.  A lot of books are beginner or artist collections, but it's tough to find that medium level book. 

I'll be happy to back at the Covenant Hotel.  I will be able to get on Facebook there.  I only wish I could have been playing Frontierville all this time.  I have cows to feed, and white buffalo to nurse back to health. 

Adrian is not funny

I'd like to think of myself as funny.  But I have to realize that there are certain times I am not.  Namely, when I am sick.  I always thought I would have these hilarious things to say to the nurses when I would be in the hospital.  However, it was not to be.  I am in too much pain to be funny.  Also, I am on too many painkillers to think of anything beyond a fart joke. 

Also, I noticed something when I transferred my blog from myspace over to blogger.  I could tell by the dates when I had changed my medicines.  I noticed when I had changed my meds that I had become less funny.  I was much more hilarious when my meds weren't quite working correctly.  I wrote this one blog about getting drunk and doing late night luthiery.  It ended with me crapping on a doorstep and using a cat to wipe myself.  Now, I didn't actually do any of that, but it was pretty funny.

Life is a trade off.  I now live life in a much more reasonable way, but I don't have the hilarious blogs that I used to.  Oh well.  I guess I will have to work harder to be funnier.

The Alien Within

I have had back pain for years.  I figured it was a slipped disk, something most people have.  However, I now blog from the Catholic Memorial Hospital of Chattanooga.  It seems like I have had an enemy/ alien within myself.  This entity is also known as my gall bladder.  I had horrible muscle spasms for three days, and went to the walk-in clinic.  Who then sent me to the urgent care clinic.  And they sent me to the emergency room.  They said I had muscle spasms, and gave me muscle relaxers.  I then checked in with a regular doctor two days later.  He ordered an echo-gram on me, and they found lots of gall stones.

One of the gall stones was 2.2 cm long.  There were also lots of little ones.  He wanted to send me into surgery immediately.  Well, it ended up being agreed upon that my Dad would come up here to Chattanooga, and then I would be admitted to the hospital.  It seems my white blood cell count was twice what it should have been at 13,000 units.  So I was given lots of antibiotics. 

The doctor then went to perform a routine gall bladder removal.  It was not to be.  He had to cut me open since my gall bladder was "dead and gange-green."  It was also calcified the size of a golf ball.  And let's be honest, doctor's know their golf balls.  The operation ended up taking five hours long instead of one hour. 

So here I sit in lots of pain.  This should have been simple, but with my luck, I should have known it was not going to be simple.  When I woke up, I remember asking the doctor, "What went wrong?"  I knew something wasn't right.  I was in a lot of pain, and I think my internal clock knew something was off.  He was trying to be reassuring, but Dad ended up filling me in on what happened.

This is going to make my recovery take a long time.  Normally they go in through the belly button so there isn't too much to cut through.  But with me, well, let's just say I am now part of the zipper club.  I believe I am going to be out of work for two months. 

But there are a few things I have learned about hospitals. 

1. Nurses can be nice, but they can also be very, very evil. 
2. Also nothing here is sacred/ private/ or too personal. 
3. Dad can not shut up about all my "personal" things to the nurses and family members.  If I had the strength, I would have choked him a few times.
4.  This hospital does not let me have access to Facebook.  I need to play Frontierville.  I get angry if I don't get to play it.
5.  Liquid diets suck, but they beat the alternative. 
6.  Nurses have a sick sense of humor. 

So that's all I can think of for the time being.  I'll keep posting, cause let's face it, I have nothing else to do.