Just one week ago I made a commitment to give myself some time to recuperate, get my body in motion and hopefully regain the feeling in my left hand. I even put it in writing.
….but this is what really happened.
Turns out, I’m a bit of a blogoholic. And so, while I fully intend to take a break from writing everyday, it seems reading my favorite blogs just primes the pump. There are so many people doing amazing things and pointing out the hilarious connected disconnects and fruit loops of our society.
I cannot bare to miss out on sharing the good times, so here goes….
Myrna’s pink nail art matched her pink hair. She checked my vitals and told me I had to pee in a cup. I laughed, but she was serious. I had not had anything to eat or drink for about fifteen hours and it seemed like a lot of effort to produce a sample when I already knew the answer. After all, I did circle NO to the question Are you pregnant? on the intake form, but I guess she had to be sure I wasn’t lying just to get steroids. (Juicing is a big problem with middle-aged suburbanite bloggers, you know.)
The anesthesiologist came in and we chatted while she put in the IV port. Her voice had a soft, lilting quality when she said, I’m going to make you very comfortable, so you won’t remember a thing. She left the room and I just sat there in my backless gown and shower cap ensemble until they came to take me into the procedure room where I was positioned face down, with my upper body propped on some pillows, and
sufficiently smashed securely strapped onto the table.
The neurologist came in. I couldn’t see him, but I made sure to ask if he was having a good day. He said yes and inquired how I was doing. I said as long as they were all having a good day, then so was I. We joked about some additional procedures that could be performed if we were in Mexico and drugs available without a prescription in Thailand. The last thing I heard was the anesthesiologist say she got her bartender’s license in Thailand. Before I could process that piece of information, I was out.
My husband swears when they rolled me into recovery, I was saying, “this is all being documented in my blog.” I am pretty sure I heard someone say I was one happy chick. I might have been singing show tunes during the whole thing, who knows, but I do remember asking the doctor if the steroids would cause me to grow a penis. He laughed. He was about 90 percent sure it wouldn’t, “but you never know,” he said.
Myrna brought me some water. I asked, when I was going to be taken to the procedure room, I’m not pregnant, am I? She laughed and said no, I wasn’t pregnant and that the procedure was over. She left the discharge instructions sitting on my clothes for me to find when I was ready to get dressed. I didn’t see her again. I got dressed and stepped into the hallway where my husband was waiting. He took my hand, laughed at me and said I was just too funny. I don’t remember anything else about the experience – just the laughter. (I hope I didn’t sign any legal documents.)