Taking a break from writing was a total cop-out. The linguistic part of my brain took a crap. In fact, if any of this ends up making sense, consider it a small miracle. I’m having a heck of a time trying to focus on anything while ignoring the screams to join my dark side in isolation. Isolation sounds damn awesome right about now. As such, I’ve been crappy in the communication department too.
“Kara, where the ef have you been?”
a) I was swallowed by a whale.
b) I searched for firestorm in the badlands.
c) I discovered skittles are made by giving enemas to unicorns.
d) I got kidnapped by the white coat brigade.
If you chose C and D, you get an A! Well, a 100%. You won’t be swallowed by a whale, I hope.
I’m going into my, uhhhh, 11th day (I can still count! Maybe…) of the best inpatient care I’ve ever received. There’s a lot of bickering between home doctors and new doctors, but there’s also more doing than throwing maybes around. I guess that’s the difference between a teaching hospital and a tertiary hospital.
In the past week I’ve been appendectocized, antibioticyzed, dialyzed, and as of yesterday certified abscess free. Appendicitis? Apparently I just hurt real bad in the guts all the time and can’t tell the difference. I wasn’t expecting to be cut open. And what is it about all of the infectious shit happening on my right side? Is it because I sleep on my right side? Is it the yin to my yang? Can’t I just mirror copy my left side and get rid of the rest? I can now say I’m less enthusiastic about being gutted to remove the gremlins from the rest of my bowels. To say I’m sore is an understatement, but I’ve got a knack for that sort of thing. At least I got a little blood transfusion action during the whole ordeal.
For the record, central lines suck. It makes me wish I had my access done when it was scheduled a few months ago. I’m not really complaining about not being fistulized because I’ve never been a fan of the idea. This setup works for the acute stuff, but it happens often enough that it’s probably a good idea to stop being a weinie. And besides, this shit is really damn uncomfortable. The risk of infection with a CVA is also a problem, especially considering I seem to be germtopia. “Hey guys! Her immune system is shit! Let’s have a rave! *dirty germs dancing with glow sticks*” Fuckers.
I should be out of here soon, within the next few days. I’ve been ready to leave since day 4 when they d/c’d the morphine and benadryl. I’m still really fucking itchy, but have chosen to be somewhat coherent rather than constantly nodding off while I’m upright. Overall, I’m feeling MUCH better than I was two weeks ago.
I’m upset that I missed Carolyn’s funeral, but better one funeral rather than two. At least it solved my wardrobe deficiency. Mom said the service was nice (Dad stayed home to bring me contraband but kept forgetting to grab my phone charger so I was without netflix/hulu/music for a whole 4 days), and my cousin wrote a very entertaining eulogy. Again, pissed I wasn’t there. My parents ordered a wheelchair so Mom has something to use after her foot surgery, and when she’s done with it, I’m allowed to use it until they need it again. Cool! With any luck, that’ll give me one less excuse to sit around at home.
I’m driving myself up the walls about finances, and every other little thing. Life in general is rubbing me the wrong way. I assume it’s a byproduct of going stir-crazy. I need to get in on the neighborhood yard sale and sell all of manchild’s extra shit. If I were to disclose how much money he has spent on pointless crap and at titty bars in the past 35 days, you’d shit a castle too. He told me he’s tied for the top spot in his class (I’m not sure if they note distinguished graduates at NCOA or not), and all I could think was ‘then why are you such an idiot?’, but said “Pretty fly for a white guy.”
Seeeee, I have a little self control left. Am I excited to see him in 10 days? No. I’m murderface. Let’s blame hormones, imprisonment, and an intense craving for fried pickles. Anything but blaming him to keep myself from releasing a bag of bees in his truck. It’s much more difficult to hate him when he’s around to fetch me ice cream. I’m a terrible person, but I’m only human’ish.
To avoid ending this on a sour note, here are two sloths in a basket. Ack! So weird, so cute!