home again, redux
I've been home since around 11 Tuesday morning. After surgery beginning sometime after 8.15am and after the anaesthetist tried six times before getting a line in (him: "..and it's not a good one..." me: "!"), he gave me what he calls the "sleepy drug" and hello, big snooze. Monday subsequently passed really easily and in between sleeping off the anaesthetic, there was only some capadex to ease the virtually non existent pain. Which was lucky because the Prof is still on his Say No To Pain Control! drive, and has since included codeine in his NoNoNO! list. I am, however, seriously impressed at how easy Day 1 was.
Day 2, yesterday, dawned after a pretty frickin' disturbed night. No pain, just how the fuck do they expect anyone to sleep in those godawful beds with those godawful blankets wrapped around their shivering bodies? I was awake for real at crazyearly-o-clock, and the Prof did his rounds in the pre dawn dark, which was around five minutes after I woke up. No pain killers again yesterday too and home at the aforementioned 11am.
My face? Well, despite not hurting a whit, is truly awesome and really kind of icky. I look pretty fucking bad, man, with two black eyes that are swollen out to here *gestures widely*. There's a bit of swelling from the screw removal too, on the left side of my face that goes down to my jaw, and a minimal amount from the fat transfer on the right. Which turned out to be a fat injection and not the dermal fat graft* I (thought I) signed up for. The former is the preferred option as it's less invasive, bla bla bla, but the second, which requires two incisions and a whole lot more surgery and is also considered to be more "reconstructive", is free under out medicare scheme. It's also less likely to be reabsorbed so I'm less likely to need to be shitting the bricks I am as, because of this fuck up, it looks like I've got to find another two fucking grand TIMES TWO! to pay for what seems to be a misunderstanding.
Me, yesterday morning after inspecting the big assed bruise on my thigh when there should have been an incision along my abdomen: uh....dermal fat graft?
The Prof: No. You said....
Me (thinks) : what the FUCK?!
Him: *checks watch*"..."
Me (squeaks): Okay
Him: No. Not "okay". You said....
Me (really, really really quietly as in not at all): didnotdidnotdidnotEVER!
His nurse (whispers quietly in my ear) :We'll talk Friday
Him: *already gone*
So yes, it's another fuckup. One my face is most grateful for this time, but one I'm not very partial too, and nor is my bank account. I did NOT say ANY of the shit he cited about not wanting another scar because I already have a scar in the exact same proposed scar area (thankyou Dr Scalpel McCutty!) and the c-section scar in the exact same donor area, so why would I give a flying fuck about "another scar"?! What "another scar" It wouldn't BE another scar, it'd be the same scars, and probably done better because shit man, you should see the scar for the bone graft area! NOT THERE! Almost, and it's only been three months. Dude might be deaf as a post or delusion or whatever, but he sure can sew a mean stitch. I'm left wondering though, and not totally in jest, do I have an extra personality that pops out when I least expect it and who knows all about me and my life and who(m?) I have no knowledge of?
You can already see that the extra fat in my right cheek is going to make a real difference to the almighty imbalance that fool, Cutty McScalpel created around seven years ago. I'll tell that story one day, maybe, if you pay me enough (say, 2K?)(x2!), ahem, suffice to say this dipshit with a knife literally cut a huge hole in my face - for no real reason - and left me with a large dent that looks kind of weird - and especially so since the reconstructive surgery kind. Me, yes, I appear to be as foolish as peep toe sandals in winter, but actually at the time, I was just a very trusting and injured soul (aw). Him, though. He's an arrogant asswipe who should be kicked in the nuts 'til he sings soprano.
Anyway and oddly enough, I felt fantastic all day yesterday, with no pain and just the god awful, boring swelling that kind of interferes with my field of vision, making it really quite annoying. Oh, and the dressings. All over my face, practically, making me some kind of hybrid between Rocky Balboa (V1.0, where he's between rounds with Appollo or Pluto or whoever the fuck and he's requesting that Paulie cut him (eww) when his eyes blow up to gargantuan proportions and he ends up looking like he's wearing Pamela Anderson's norkage as some kind of Barbarella-esque goggles) and Hannibal Lector. The Mask Of Doom has got to stay on until at least Friday, and until then, good bye personal hygiene. My eyes are driving me nuts this morning, all goopey and yes, sorry, should warn when about to talk squick. The swelling seemed to be going down already yesterday too, but swelled up again over night, rekindling the visuals of norkage staple gunned to eye sockets, so that I have to kind of look over my eyes to see the damn screen just to write this. Swelling is good though. It eliminates wrinkles. Big time. Ha ha. Seriously, I look like a twenty two year old who's been beaten with a 4x2.
I actually feel a lot like warmed over crap today, way more so than yesterday, and while Daniel putters around trying to play with me, I'm doing my best impression of a neglectful mother by pointing over there and asking him "what's that?", while hoping he'll leave me alone to go over there and investigate. He sat on my lap for a bit earlier and poured water all over us both and I kind of...pushed him off. That made me feel muuuuuch better. Yes. Mum is taking himon her personal version of a death ride to childcare later this morning, so I'll get a break from all his wonderfulness. A break which I'm sure will be liberally sprinkled with all kinds of guilt for feeling hella relieved that he's not here with me. Awesome.
*yes, this link is for enhancement procedures to a body part that I don't even own, but it offers the best and most accurate explanation of dermal fat grafting, so in essence, if you;re giggling right now? Please shut up. Thankyou. Signed, most cordially, the management.
Day 2, yesterday, dawned after a pretty frickin' disturbed night. No pain, just how the fuck do they expect anyone to sleep in those godawful beds with those godawful blankets wrapped around their shivering bodies? I was awake for real at crazyearly-o-clock, and the Prof did his rounds in the pre dawn dark, which was around five minutes after I woke up. No pain killers again yesterday too and home at the aforementioned 11am.
My face? Well, despite not hurting a whit, is truly awesome and really kind of icky. I look pretty fucking bad, man, with two black eyes that are swollen out to here *gestures widely*. There's a bit of swelling from the screw removal too, on the left side of my face that goes down to my jaw, and a minimal amount from the fat transfer on the right. Which turned out to be a fat injection and not the dermal fat graft* I (thought I) signed up for. The former is the preferred option as it's less invasive, bla bla bla, but the second, which requires two incisions and a whole lot more surgery and is also considered to be more "reconstructive", is free under out medicare scheme. It's also less likely to be reabsorbed so I'm less likely to need to be shitting the bricks I am as, because of this fuck up, it looks like I've got to find another two fucking grand TIMES TWO! to pay for what seems to be a misunderstanding.
Me, yesterday morning after inspecting the big assed bruise on my thigh when there should have been an incision along my abdomen: uh....dermal fat graft?
The Prof: No. You said....
Me (thinks) : what the FUCK?!
Him: *checks watch*"..."
Me (squeaks): Okay
Him: No. Not "okay". You said....
Me (really, really really quietly as in not at all): didnotdidnotdidnotEVER!
His nurse (whispers quietly in my ear) :We'll talk Friday
Him: *already gone*
So yes, it's another fuckup. One my face is most grateful for this time, but one I'm not very partial too, and nor is my bank account. I did NOT say ANY of the shit he cited about not wanting another scar because I already have a scar in the exact same proposed scar area (thankyou Dr Scalpel McCutty!) and the c-section scar in the exact same donor area, so why would I give a flying fuck about "another scar"?! What "another scar" It wouldn't BE another scar, it'd be the same scars, and probably done better because shit man, you should see the scar for the bone graft area! NOT THERE! Almost, and it's only been three months. Dude might be deaf as a post or delusion or whatever, but he sure can sew a mean stitch. I'm left wondering though, and not totally in jest, do I have an extra personality that pops out when I least expect it and who knows all about me and my life and who(m?) I have no knowledge of?
You can already see that the extra fat in my right cheek is going to make a real difference to the almighty imbalance that fool, Cutty McScalpel created around seven years ago. I'll tell that story one day, maybe, if you pay me enough (say, 2K?)(x2!), ahem, suffice to say this dipshit with a knife literally cut a huge hole in my face - for no real reason - and left me with a large dent that looks kind of weird - and especially so since the reconstructive surgery kind. Me, yes, I appear to be as foolish as peep toe sandals in winter, but actually at the time, I was just a very trusting and injured soul (aw). Him, though. He's an arrogant asswipe who should be kicked in the nuts 'til he sings soprano.
Anyway and oddly enough, I felt fantastic all day yesterday, with no pain and just the god awful, boring swelling that kind of interferes with my field of vision, making it really quite annoying. Oh, and the dressings. All over my face, practically, making me some kind of hybrid between Rocky Balboa (V1.0, where he's between rounds with Appollo or Pluto or whoever the fuck and he's requesting that Paulie cut him (eww) when his eyes blow up to gargantuan proportions and he ends up looking like he's wearing Pamela Anderson's norkage as some kind of Barbarella-esque goggles) and Hannibal Lector. The Mask Of Doom has got to stay on until at least Friday, and until then, good bye personal hygiene. My eyes are driving me nuts this morning, all goopey and yes, sorry, should warn when about to talk squick. The swelling seemed to be going down already yesterday too, but swelled up again over night, rekindling the visuals of norkage staple gunned to eye sockets, so that I have to kind of look over my eyes to see the damn screen just to write this. Swelling is good though. It eliminates wrinkles. Big time. Ha ha. Seriously, I look like a twenty two year old who's been beaten with a 4x2.
I actually feel a lot like warmed over crap today, way more so than yesterday, and while Daniel putters around trying to play with me, I'm doing my best impression of a neglectful mother by pointing over there and asking him "what's that?", while hoping he'll leave me alone to go over there and investigate. He sat on my lap for a bit earlier and poured water all over us both and I kind of...pushed him off. That made me feel muuuuuch better. Yes. Mum is taking him
*yes, this link is for enhancement procedures to a body part that I don't even own, but it offers the best and most accurate explanation of dermal fat grafting, so in essence, if you;re giggling right now? Please shut up. Thankyou. Signed, most cordially, the management.
posted by aibee at 08:00
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