Saturday 24 May 2008

For Some Insane Reason, I Feel Like Crap

It's been 90-some-odd hours since I've had a cup of coffee. And the last cup of coffee I had was from 7-freakin-11 which was exciting because it was the first 7-11 I've been to since I moved to Mexico in 2004 but was still coffee from 7-11. When I woke up from surgery, after I asked for water (which Bethany so sweetly publicly broadcast for me), I asked for coffee. And I've been asking for it every time any nurse or doctor walks into my room even though I know full well that I can't have any coffee until I've successfully eaten and "contained" 3 meals (1 down, 2 to go). I keep asking. I don't know why I keep asking. I want to be this wonderful patient that is so sweet and endearing that the nurses give me flowers when I leave and the janitorial staff forms a parade route down the hall and I leave amid applause and (happy) tears. But it's just not going to happen. I hate hospitals, I hate being stuck in bed, I hate catheters, and most of all, I hate being without coffee. Okay, even more than being coffee-less, I hate the obscene amount of pain that is coursing nonstop through my body, at times lifting me off the bed, at times, causing me to scream without control, at times, waking me from sleep screaming without control and lifting me off the bed. But the coffee withdrawal? It comes in a close second.

Hi everyone. I'm dictating this to Brit who has sworn to me that he will not edit nor add asides but I simply do not trust him. All references in this blog post to blondes with big breasts, Nintendo Wii, or blondes with big breasts playing Nintendo Wii should be attributed to my dear, sweet, gorgeously handsome, brilliant and unbelievably single friend Brit. Did I mention he was single? Did I mention he is both gorgeous and handsome? Did I mention that even though he is gorgeous and handsome, he is completely approachable? Did I mention that he gave me a sponge bath today even though I begged him to let Bethany do it when she returned from her coffee run? Yes, Bethany gets to drink coffee. And that's why I think she should have to give me sponge baths.

There are some of you reading this that want all the gory details of my operations, of my prognoses, and therapy plans. I'm sorry, but it's just not going to happen. I thought about it and decided I just couldn't do it. For one thing, a lot is still up in the air. For another, it's gross. And for yet another, Brit has promised to reenact "West Side Story" for me when I'm done blogging so I'm in a rush. (Note to Joaquin: Brit does an even better "I'm So Pretty" than I do!)

And so we're going to do a "best of, highlights, Isahrai's greatest medical hits" version of the last week instead.....

I'm sorry to those of you that I didn't warn about the surgery. I'm sorry to those of you that I didn't talk to for the past 6 months. It's been hard. I promise to try harder than my life tries to prevent it in the future. Really.

I'm also sorry that I didn't explain better that the pacemaker part of the surgery was really the EASY part of the surgery. I know, heart surgery sounds like a big deal but pacemakers are often installed under local anesthetic (I'm special so they not only knocked me out for the surgery but for the next 3 days!). I was given a biventricular pacemaker (for those of you heart snobs out there, it's also known as cardiac resynchronization therapy) because not only is my heart beat irregular, it's also out of sync with itself. And now you all know why I am such a bad dancer. My heart is still incredibly weak from years of harsh medical treatments but the pacemaker was a requirement before I could even consider any other surgeries. So I'm now wired. And I still get to use a microwave! Yay, modern medicine!

This stomach surgery was the 6th time my stomach has been operated on to remove stomach tumors. It was successful in that my stomach was successfully closed after as much tumor was cut, scraped and sucked out as possible. The tumors will come back. They just love me that way.

The hip surgery... oh, the glorious hip surgery... which was also pelvic bone surgery. Damn, I really messed that one up. And by "I messed it up" I mean, "my mother-bleeping seizures messed it up"... My surgeons are amazing. They did the best they could when I started thrashing uncontrollably, strong enough to break straps that were holding me down, strong enough to break a bone in my foot and dislocate my shoulder, strong enough to rip open all of the stitches on my stomach and pull out the drain. They managed to minimize blood loss, close my stomach back up, finish the hip and pelvic bone surgery, and add in some muscle and nerve repair surgery without ever bitch slapping me for being so difficult. Or maybe they did. I was alseep.

Brit has just told me that when I came out of surgery I had curse words written in lipstick all over my body. I believe he is lying. He doesn't speak Spanish, how does he know they were curse words?

So today was the big day when I was supposed to get out of bed and walk on my brand new hip (and reworked pelvic bone which wasn't "removed" but was drilled and then the holes filled with cement like potholes in the street... except the potholes were in my unmentionable region... ow). Instead, I fell flat on my face. It had nothing to do with too much pain -- although there certainly is Too. Much. Pain. There is just something wrong. We don't know what it is. It isn't paralysis -- have I mentioned how much pain there is? It may be nerve trauma/damage, muscle damage, a problem with the new joint, or a problem with my spinal cord. We're being patient. Or rather I'm being a difficult, whiny patient and everyone else is being patient with me. If I still can't walk on Monday, there will be tests and perhaps further surgery. Bev has already promised me a kick ass wheelchair, though, if I come home to Zihua unable to walk so I'm really not that worried. I think I'll add streamers and a speaker system on the back. And maybe a bumper sticker that says "ass, grass, or cash, nobody rides for free."

I am more disheartened by the fact that I am absolutely, unequivocally, in no uncertain terms forbidden to dance (or engage in other nighttime, high hip-action activites) for at least 6 months. And no turquoise high heels for a very, very long time. Don't send flowers, send spangly, sexy (flat...blech) sandals.

And did I mention, that despite my being a miracle patient and not dying and all that, they still won't let me have coffee?

And that's it for now. I will Twitter and blog more (hopefully caffeinated) details when I have them.

posted on Mexico time @ 21.20 (menos o mas) |