file under: what the fuck?
So yes, hello there. For those of you marking my schedule on your calender, firstly, eww, and secondly, you'd better put a line through Monday's plans for I am not recovering from surgery and I have not had a hellish night in ICU. I'm here at home this morning, and I still have that rogue bolt in my head. Joy.
Let's recap yesterday's glorious events: I was to be admitted to the hospital at 9am so was starved (They call it "fasting". I call them big, fat liars) from midnight, and stayed up watching more episodes of Season 3 of One Tree Hill until around a billion-o-clock, then hopped into bed for around three seconds before Daniel crawled on top of me at 6.10 am, his sole intention to punch me in the head and tell me that he was "hungee". Then I futzed around doing this and that while Daniel refused to eat the vast aray of tasty offerings presented to him (note to child: I am NOT a short order cook), so this "hungee" shit was just that. Shit. Which he didn't do while sharing the shower with me later on in the piece and for which I shall remain eternally grateful. Mum arrived around 20 minutes before expected which, arrrrgh, and then I was late to leave for the hospital anyway. The plan was that I'd drive in with mum and the D man, and she'd drive them both home afterwards. Meanwhile, I was muttering under my breath that I should have caught a cab because for serious, the plan stunk because fucksake. But in the interests of saving thirty bucks, I agreed to it. Fool that I am. BUT! When we got in the car at 8.30am (running late already, arrgh) the fucking thing wouldn't start, thank you totally flat as flat as flat as flat as flat battery. Which kind of spooked me because general anaesthetic scares me stupid anyway and I'm always convinced I'm going to cark it while in the Land of The Supreme Nod. "Be gone, irrational thoughts" I told myself though, and called for a cab ASAP, dude! Then we waited outside and Daniel tootled around amusing himself on the front lawn and the cab duly arrived. And drove right past me and sailed off into the distance. The fuck? I was jumping up and down on the footpath and waving my arms and yelling "Over here!". My god, was he blind?! Or, wait, *gulp* was I invisible? The cab driver eventually came back after disappearing to I don't know where the fuck, and then as Daniel went all quiet, I held back a bucket of tears before waving him good bye, and away we went.
I should have been breathing but instead, spent the cab ride on the phone organising first, the road service and next, my mechanic to fix my damn car, and I have no idea how it happened but we arrived only 15 minutes late for admitting. Then I was left in the admitting lounge with only crappy magazines to read for another 15 minutes anyway. After that it was all admit admit admit admit admit, and all of a sudden I was sitting around in another lounge wearing a hospital gown, nancy tights (with Inspection Toe!), paper slippers and big fluffy bathrobe.
Three hours after that and I'd got a nap in and begun reading a novel. Yes! A novel! The first in ages! And I continued reading it last night! For I am AWESOME! I'd be reading it now too, except I'm keeping all you sportsfans up to date with my exciting life. You can thank me later. Anyway. Yes. After that amount of time, the Prof arrived to talk to me and the other patient who was next ahead of me. He asked about what we were doing and when I said we weren't doing my nose, thank you being poor etc, and he nodded and disappeared before coming back around five minutes later to ask if I'd like to postpone the operation until next week. I was all, nope, no way, let's Just Do It, and he was all, call my PA, which I did and I don't know how it happened but next thing you know, I was off the list for the day, there was steam coming out of my ears and I was heading for home. Seems the Prof was concerned my decision had been rushed, which, while I was totally pissed off TO THE MAX with at the time, after I'd got home (and after shedding a lone tear during the cab ride home) and addressed my hypoglycemia (my god, I can't believe I used to starve for ALWAYS. Colour me total lightweight these days, thank you very much, because those fifteen of so hours sans food kinda made my brain fizzle), with a cup of coffee which, strictly speaking, isn't even food. ANYWAY, point being, I could totally get -and appreciate- where he was coming from and what his point was, especially given my previous experience with that tool, Dr Scalpel McCutty, from a few years ago. Also, I'm grateful that I was forced to listen to the Universe when it was telling me all along DON'T DO IT OR YOU SHALL PERISH! because haybus crispy, how many signs did I need that yesterday was NOT a good day for being drugged up and testing that One in a Million People Will Die During Surgery statistic? Car broken down? Cab driver not seeing me despite the neon sign flashing above my head saying "Passenger!!". The incredibly long and drawn out delay between admission and even seeing the Prof? How big of a sign did I need?! Still, it's a bit of a pain in the rearendicular region as, as you can appreciate, because being a sole parent and organising a night off is like orchestrating a highly detailed gala event for an international celebrity who wants pony rides and circus clowns in between sipping champagne and being adored by the three thousand or so guests, all flown in on separate flights from far away and obscure places. Or not, but, whatever.
So, yes, it's all been rescheduled for next week which means the week off I'd arranged for this week is a wasted week, vis a vis work, and the week I organised for next week is now shot to shirt too- BUT at least I'll be alive for it!
Am seriously, seriously freaked out by general anaesthetic. Swear.
Then I stuffed Daniel in the stroller and we went for a walk.
The end.
Let's recap yesterday's glorious events: I was to be admitted to the hospital at 9am so was starved (They call it "fasting". I call them big, fat liars) from midnight, and stayed up watching more episodes of Season 3 of One Tree Hill until around a billion-o-clock, then hopped into bed for around three seconds before Daniel crawled on top of me at 6.10 am, his sole intention to punch me in the head and tell me that he was "hungee". Then I futzed around doing this and that while Daniel refused to eat the vast aray of tasty offerings presented to him (note to child: I am NOT a short order cook), so this "hungee" shit was just that. Shit. Which he didn't do while sharing the shower with me later on in the piece and for which I shall remain eternally grateful. Mum arrived around 20 minutes before expected which, arrrrgh, and then I was late to leave for the hospital anyway. The plan was that I'd drive in with mum and the D man, and she'd drive them both home afterwards. Meanwhile, I was muttering under my breath that I should have caught a cab because for serious, the plan stunk because fucksake. But in the interests of saving thirty bucks, I agreed to it. Fool that I am. BUT! When we got in the car at 8.30am (running late already, arrgh) the fucking thing wouldn't start, thank you totally flat as flat as flat as flat as flat battery. Which kind of spooked me because general anaesthetic scares me stupid anyway and I'm always convinced I'm going to cark it while in the Land of The Supreme Nod. "Be gone, irrational thoughts" I told myself though, and called for a cab ASAP, dude! Then we waited outside and Daniel tootled around amusing himself on the front lawn and the cab duly arrived. And drove right past me and sailed off into the distance. The fuck? I was jumping up and down on the footpath and waving my arms and yelling "Over here!". My god, was he blind?! Or, wait, *gulp* was I invisible? The cab driver eventually came back after disappearing to I don't know where the fuck, and then as Daniel went all quiet, I held back a bucket of tears before waving him good bye, and away we went.
I should have been breathing but instead, spent the cab ride on the phone organising first, the road service and next, my mechanic to fix my damn car, and I have no idea how it happened but we arrived only 15 minutes late for admitting. Then I was left in the admitting lounge with only crappy magazines to read for another 15 minutes anyway. After that it was all admit admit admit admit admit, and all of a sudden I was sitting around in another lounge wearing a hospital gown, nancy tights (with Inspection Toe!), paper slippers and big fluffy bathrobe.
Three hours after that and I'd got a nap in and begun reading a novel. Yes! A novel! The first in ages! And I continued reading it last night! For I am AWESOME! I'd be reading it now too, except I'm keeping all you sportsfans up to date with my exciting life. You can thank me later. Anyway. Yes. After that amount of time, the Prof arrived to talk to me and the other patient who was next ahead of me. He asked about what we were doing and when I said we weren't doing my nose, thank you being poor etc, and he nodded and disappeared before coming back around five minutes later to ask if I'd like to postpone the operation until next week. I was all, nope, no way, let's Just Do It, and he was all, call my PA, which I did and I don't know how it happened but next thing you know, I was off the list for the day, there was steam coming out of my ears and I was heading for home. Seems the Prof was concerned my decision had been rushed, which, while I was totally pissed off TO THE MAX with at the time, after I'd got home (and after shedding a lone tear during the cab ride home) and addressed my hypoglycemia (my god, I can't believe I used to starve for ALWAYS. Colour me total lightweight these days, thank you very much, because those fifteen of so hours sans food kinda made my brain fizzle), with a cup of coffee which, strictly speaking, isn't even food. ANYWAY, point being, I could totally get -and appreciate- where he was coming from and what his point was, especially given my previous experience with that tool, Dr Scalpel McCutty, from a few years ago. Also, I'm grateful that I was forced to listen to the Universe when it was telling me all along DON'T DO IT OR YOU SHALL PERISH! because haybus crispy, how many signs did I need that yesterday was NOT a good day for being drugged up and testing that One in a Million People Will Die During Surgery statistic? Car broken down? Cab driver not seeing me despite the neon sign flashing above my head saying "Passenger!!". The incredibly long and drawn out delay between admission and even seeing the Prof? How big of a sign did I need?! Still, it's a bit of a pain in the rearendicular region as, as you can appreciate, because being a sole parent and organising a night off is like orchestrating a highly detailed gala event for an international celebrity who wants pony rides and circus clowns in between sipping champagne and being adored by the three thousand or so guests, all flown in on separate flights from far away and obscure places. Or not, but, whatever.
So, yes, it's all been rescheduled for next week which means the week off I'd arranged for this week is a wasted week, vis a vis work, and the week I organised for next week is now shot to shirt too- BUT at least I'll be alive for it!
Am seriously, seriously freaked out by general anaesthetic. Swear.
Then I stuffed Daniel in the stroller and we went for a walk.
The end.
posted by aibee at 09:38
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