Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Ode to an Op

Sometimes when I write here, I avoid the deeply personal. I don't want people to get hurt and too many people who know both of us in my couple read this blog so it's not really fair. However this time I can go deeper because it is just about me. Yes I am going to roll like a hippo in the mud in my own feelings and splay them like a prostitutes' legs over the page for you to read.

My sugical procedure is standard. 
Lots of people get it done. 
I will feel better after it. 

This is the three line mantra that suburban buddists have been repeating at me for the last 48 hours.
This Haku of Health is supposed to make me feel good and positive and have me practically bounding into the hospital as if I was on a can of rubber red bull with a good dose of speed, and completely relaxed and content to undergo the operation that will change my poor sad sorry life............STOP RIGHT THERE BUDDY.

They are going to put me to sleep
They are going to slit my throat open. 
Pull the opening apart reach in a take out a disc that stops two vertebrae rubbing together that is incidently around my spinal cord. 
They are then somehow going to put in a fake one. 
Stitch me up
wake me up 
Send me home.


That probably doesn't pass for a sonnet but lets call it an Ode to an Op.

I happen to enjoy life at the moment and this is becomming a slight inconvienience. The other inconvienience is they took away the spell checker on this thing and I am too impatient to read through it properly. (Besides I am not getting paid for doing this, hence the sloppy work).

The surgeon told me not to stress out. I told him what was stressing me out was the fact I was getting stressed. I have grown up around hospitals, I have watched people pass away. I have laid out dead bodies.
However I don't like other peoples fingers in my body. No not even my lover gets to put fingers where some men really appreciate it.

I just don't like foreign bodies in me. ( I am not being racist here). I have seen E.R. worse still I have seen Dr. Greg House. I preferred Hugh Lawrie when he was a comedy duo with that other brilliant routound actor who played Wilde in the film of the same name. [House has got so formulaic, as to be completely predictable, except for the brain anurism that is caused during a routine chest X Ray because the patient forgot to tell one House's minions he took honey with his coffee and not sugar in his tea. Some deadly nightshade flower had been visited by a bee who made the honey, hence the complication. ]

Anyway my surgeon is nothing like him. I am a little anxious because it's all in French. My flow doesn't flow. I am not quick enough with the questions. I am thinking too much. I mean today I asked what I should bring with me. When I reflected I thought it was probably self evident. 

I didn't sign the paper they gave me before the visit to the anestheseologist. The paper said everything had been explained and I had asked all the questions necessary. So I didn't sign it. Then he didn't actually explain anything either just ask me a lot of questions. So it stayed unsigned. They didn't notice.

I am nervous. I am mostly nervous about the cutting, the bleeding the stitching. So let it be known in case I don't stop bleeding till all 8 pints have run out of me, or I never wake up,  or my honey intake causes some unforseen complication; let it be known that all my worldly possessions go to my two children and until they are 18 to my Lover who for privacy purposes will remain namless here. But if you find me on face book you will find her.
I am a little nervous about the putting me to sleep.
I am slightly anxious about visitors if anyone will come or not.
I am pissed that I won't get to see my son before during or after.
I am a tad nervous I wont wake up. Just somewhere at the back of my mind, there is just a little itch that this could be it.  It isn't it, but it's a possibility, a slighter bigger or slightly more recognisable one than crossing a busy street .........but nonetheless a risk.

No I don't know I will be fine, there is no one reassuring me on a professional basis and I can't tell the future.
So once more as I apt to do here,  like an English King with a hard on for the battle, I throw myself into the breach.. For mine own glory. I will have a scar I suppose that I can tell tall tales about when I recover.
But just on the off chance I don't get the chance to say goodbye and that I love you. Well you know I do. I wouldn't be me if I didn't. I will be less of a man. less of this man when I come out but I will also have a little extra. Perhaps that is something to look forward to. Being a little bit more special than I am already.
Wish me well.

3 comments:

Krista said...

I do wish you well! Think of all the sympathy you'll get post-op. :) It'll be glorious.

Gillette said...

Good to get it all out and acknowledge it, Warrior.

Will be thinking of you Friday as soon as I awaken. Will also send you zappies before bed Thursday (as you are on the other side of the world).

Hugs

Warrior said...

Hi Krista, thanks for that, it's true, apparently it's a 3 week recovery period...

Yes Gillette I am a firm believer in getting it out. But this is a little tongue in cheek and a little reality.

somewhere deep inside is a little stress that surfaces now and then.

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