Bummed...

“Madness” a cover by Chester See and Andy Lange. Gorgeous version…so much better than the real version. And appropriate for the past few days.

So I’ve had my operation. I’ve been under the knife. Popped that cherry (there went the perfect record of only having needed to be in hospital for myself during my birth. *sigh*) and am now officially a veteran…well, sorta anyway. Totally not planning on doing that again, if I can do anything about it.

Don’t get me wrong, they were very kind, helpful and professional, but I have definitely had enough of hospitals. Seriously. I gotta ask, what is this weird thing of hospitals and taking off underpants. I ain’t kidding. Here I was, clean undies and everything, appropriately prudish and comfortable in neat bikini briefs, and the first thing they do when I’m semi-conscious is take off my underpants. I was not amused. There you are, barely coherent, worrying about your privates. Sure, I understand that for them it is nothing they haven’t seen, or shall not see again, but to me it is. I don’t show my privates to the public, thank you very much. And boy was there public. Eight or nine people in the operating room, only two or three of them female. I just don’t like it. Prude is my middle name, and I’d like to keep it that way. Grrrr.

Guess what the first thing was I did when I got back to my room?

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of the story. I just had to get that out.

I arrived at the hospital right on the dot, and was taken up to my room in about ten minutes. I had exactly five minutes to go to the little girl’s room before the nurse arrived and told me (very nicely, but firmly) to get in my gown and lie down on the bed. I had just laid down when this, very cute, way too young male nurse arrived to wheel me to the operating room. (Think 20 year-old Brad Pitt, and me at my most attractive—not—in a hospital gown. Aaaargh.) He was also nice, and we chatted a little in a mixture of bad Spanish (me) and bad English (him) on our way down to the surgery. Came across the young fellow who’d brought me to my room…he was all surprised that I was taken to surgery already…and then I was transferred to a bed in the prep room.

Met with the assistant surgeon and the anesthesiologist who started joking with me about my chart saying I did fitness and kickboxing…apparently that’s a strange thing that they never expect round these parts. Don’t see why. One of the best ways to blow of some steam and burn calories.

He assured me that I was going to get the mildest form of an epidural (not the big needle but a small one, that would cover the pain but wouldn’t make me insensitive) and a mild sedative against the stress I was experiencing. You’ll be glad to know that they checked which leg several times, and my identity, my numbers, whether I had allergies, fake teeth and everything. Almost makes you worry that that went wrong a time or two, eh?

Another thing. Everyone asked me how I was doing, and when I admitted to being a little stressed, they would look startled and then assure me that was normal but that I didn’t need to be.

Cliché for sure, but good advice regardless. Hah.

Anyway, I was transferred from the prep bed to the operating table—arched like a bridge for some peculiar reason—and a shield was set up between my head and the rest of my body as my first sedative was administered.  

 It felt a little bit like when you sit in a particularly uncomfortable position for too long and your legs fall asleep. A little tingly and way numb. Weird but better than painful, right?

Though mildly sedated, I remember only the first and the last half hour of the two hour procedure (and the underpants removal, and this particular moment when I felt some fierce burning sensation in my lower leg, after which they gave me another shot of something) the last of which I was apparently busy trying to cover my lower half with a sheet. Hah. Imagine my chagrin, lying there, having some beefy dude, (thankfully together with a young lady) wrapping up my leg and rolling a couple of socks onto my leg. Talk about uncomfortable.

Next came the recovery room where they asked me if I was in any pain, to which I answered some, wondering where this was headed. On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, how painful. I told the girl (yes, the nurse was little more than a girl) a 7, maybe and eight, after which she gave me a shot of something.

I gotta admit to being a little panicked, due to the fact that the pain reminded me of way back when, when I burned my upper legs with a couple of gallons of boiling water. It subsided nicely after the shot, and when the girl asked me again some 15 minutes later, I gladly told her that the pain level had gone down to a wonderful 2, or 3 on the scale. No one was more surprised than I when she sighed deeply and gave me another shot. So, apparently, you have to be without ANY pain for her to do her job well. Good to know, because those shots sure messed up my coherency in the hours that followed.

I do remember seeing my doctor at one point (he’s a nice fella. The last time we spoke we had a nice long chat about him taking up fitness for the first time in his life, and discussing the beneficial effects of kick boxing). He told me that it was a good thing we did the operation because the veins he’d treated had been a diameter of 3 quarters of an inch. Good to know I did the right thing, really.

I was returned to my room, and as promised given the choice of going home or staying for the night, depending on how I felt. First things first, though, my underpants…are you noticing that I’m a little hung up on that one? Well, I am. Seriously.

Anyway, big brother was there, waiting for me in my room. Luckily big brother is good at waiting, and entertaining himself with his phone and such. Was much reassured seeing him there after the procedure. Added to that, I was rather hungry, so he got us both something to eat from McDonalds…good thing too, considering the hospital didn’t know I’m vegetarian, so the meal that was brought to me was…well, only partly edible. But I’ll tell you this, after fasting from 10 in the morning, until 9 in the evening, a small package of pineapple juice was absolutely divine. Not to mention the handful of French fries that I managed to choke down.

Was just done when the doc’s assistant arrived and asked me what I wanted to do. At that time, I was sitting up, trying out how that would go.

I was feeling pretty okay, so when he asked I said I’d prefer to go home, to which he agreed.

Had to go to the bathroom first, though. So big brother helped me walk there, no matter how inelegantly. Was feeling just slightly woozy. Did my business, was sitting there, and the next thing I know I was staring at white and grey tiles, wondering, for only a moment, what I was doing at a train station, on the floor (I don’t know where that came from) but then I heard big brother asking me if I was okay, and realized that I must have passed out. Must say I was happy with my training, because it really wasn’t a big problem to get to my feet…foot, while my shoulder hurt like the dickens.

Don’t know what happened, or when, clearly I’d blacked out, so big brother helped me back to bed where I laid down while he went after the doctor to say that I better stay the night after all.

My shoulder was KILLING me during the night. Not when I first dropped into bed, but as the night progressed. I was woken up several times during the night, people asking me if I was alright…in Spanish naturally. Strangely enough, I didn’t even notice. I was pretty out of it, I guess. The only thing I could answer was that I was REALLY really tired. Which I was. Slept for hours, spent about thirty minutes reading around three in the morning, and then fell back to sleep until after six when some boy…seriously, BOY, came to ask me if I needed to go peepee. Not in this life-time. I was  determined to wait for big brother to help me go to the bath room (as in walk me there) but around nine the need became high, so I dared.

First I sat on the side of the bed for about fifteen minutes, then on the couch (there was bed couch in there, which I thought genius) for another ten, before I finally dared to head into the bathroom and did my thing. I persevered! I actually went to the bathroom without passing out, so, Yay! Major victory for me.

Considering that after three times of mentioning that my aching shoulder was really bugging me, and getting some extra pain killers, I gave up trying to mention it and just had big brother help me get dressed and pack up to go home.

In all honesty, the procedure was hardly painful at all. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the shoulder incident, I would have said that it wasn’t a problem at all. It wasn’t and I would definitely advise laser to anyone who needs their varicose vein treated.

As to the shoulder, it got worse as the days past, so today big brother and I went to Trafico (I know, you are wondering where that came from, but this dates back to when we still had the Daewoo. We’ve been paying taxes for it for years, simply because the guy I gave it too, never got around to dealing with writing it out. Had to make an appointment, which was today) where I had to explain the problem and then fill in half a million forms, which was hard with the friggin’ shoulder and the bad leg, until the woman took pity on me and finished filling in the forms for me. Bet she was afraid I was going to pass out right there in front of her desk…which was a viable option, in all honesty.

Luckily the private hospital that I’m allowed to go to with my insurance, didn’t force me to wait for hours and hours and hours. Decided to not risk things (luck hasn’t been on my side lately, as you undoubtedly know) I went to the ER and had Xrays taken of my shoulder (no breaks, thank you very much) just a lot of swelling due to inflammation. In the end I just got a prescription for anti inflammatory and painkillers…not much point to those, since I’m already taking Ibuprofen, but you gotta give them points for trying. That worry taken care of we went back home in the rental…

Right, the rental. You didn’t know about that one yet, did you? Well, considering we are wanting to sell the Land Rover, and since it needs some minor repairs and fixings, we decided to rent this tiny zit of a car to get us around for the next of the month. The way we figure it’ll save enough in fuel to practically pay for itself, so that is one worry less. It’s a Fiat 500, and we both fit in it, as long as we push the front seats up against the back. Hah. It has been our savior this past week, in particular due to my hospital visits and all the other stuff that needed arranging…and still does. The days have been insane. On the overall we’re out an average of 6 to 7 hours a day, arranging stuff, and the remaining hours are spent taking care of the dogs, doing the minimal amount of cleaning in our rooms and kitchen, while still trying to get some “clearing” done. Luckily the younger sibs did pitch in with cleaning up the last storage room by the house. Regretfully they weren’t very selective, meaning that lots of stuff got tossed which could have saved them a lot of money in the future whenever they needed to fix something. But, whatever, they’ll have to cross that bridge when they get there. I’ve got other stuff to worry about, least of all being sorting through my clothes and picking what to take with me.

Not such a hard choice anymore. Anything that was remotely important (kindergarten drawings, my first hand written sentence, sculptures that I took along to Spain almost twenty years ago, first drafts of my books) was already gone due to the big disaster. Strange how this last bit…including the Land Rover, I admit, I’m finding that extremely hard…hurts just as much as the rest. You’d think you develop a certain numbness, but for some reason you don’t.

Oddly enough I have heard of many people lately the well-meant advice, “Don’t gather clutter, Sam, you’ll only get frustrated from not knowing what to do with it. It is much better to have an uncluttered life.” I guess it is different when you are not doing it by choice, but rather the lack of it. Personally I find it intensely painful, but that’s me, I guess. I wouldn’t mind taking along a little bit of clutter. Hah.

Ah well, no sense in wallowing, right? Can’t change the facts, so I rather not care, if you don’t mind. Hmmm. Is that too much sarcasm in my tone? I’ll try to restrain myself, I’m feeling a tad out of sorts lately, so you’ll have to excuse me. *sigh*

Nice bit…went to dinner with our friend T tonight. Big brother cooked, which was a big success…which is so good for his confidence. First relaxing evening, just talking, eating, drinking a little, in months, and as an added bonus T is going to help us find a home for Tadaika. Our girl behaved beautifully tonight. She was polite, didn’t make a mess, and smiled for the camera, so to speak. We were very proud.

Did another trip for the Safari tours (actually took some pictures, yay…but you’re not going to see them because I’m lazy, and it is late, and it would take way too long to load them here. Sorry.) which went to Ronda this time. Saw the old ruins, only made one tiny mistake for a change, and the customers seemed to have enjoyed themselves, which counts. In the end that is all that matters, really, and they were nice, which was good for me. Always a pleasure to have good customers. These were Canadians, and they were very enthusiastic about the whole thing. Still have to send them some pictures of the trip, because I promised I would. The whole operation thing stopped me from doing so, however. Was nice seeing Ronda and all the historical sights there. As an added bonus I got to spent time with a bunch of grumpy old men (remember the movie with Jack Lemon and Walter Matthau?) bickering together like a bunch of high school kids. Seriously, it is fascinating. Four men behaving like small kids. Like throwing rubbish into the car of one of their colleagues, just to tease him. I was asked to join in, but laughingly told them that I was way too mature for that sort of thing. Luckily they could appreciate the joke. All in all, I had fun.

What else, there was some cooking (of course) cleaning, and all that basic stuff like cutting dog food, feeding them, etc.

Had a nice chat with my doctor, who has recently started doing fitness (surprised me too) and we got to talking about how I was really enjoying mine and that it can be addicting. He was also really interested in kick boxing, so I wonder if he is going to pick that up at some point. Would be fun if I talked a doctor into doing kick boxing. Hah.

Well, this it for me, really. Gotta call it a blog. Almost two in the morning, and I definitely, definitely need my beauty sleep. You’d be amazed at how quickly you get tired when you’ve got a bum leg and a bum shoulder. *sigh*