Chronically Ironic

·My Uterus, The Car: Part II – Agony

Suffice it to say I had no choice. Suffice it to say I am GLAD I had the surgery.

But I hope all the bullshit is almost over.

Keep in mind, I have never had surgery of any kind except for the minor exploratory stuff in May. So I thought it might be a little worse than that.

IT WAS A LOT WORSE!!!!

I am going on my fourth week of recovery, and I just now feel kind of normal. Here’s what happened.

First day after surgery, in the hospital. Feel ok. Groggy, as expected. Not sore yet. Kind of overall generally yucky and pathetic. Oh, and supremely ugly. The gown and crazy stretchy panties and the aforementioned White Stockings of Life and Death do not help at all in the “I’m attractive!” department. I guess one shouldn’t expect much right out of surgery, but the worst version of myself? Come on. I go home after spending an utterly sleepless night and eat mashed potatoes and start loading up on the pain killers.

Next 2 days. Feel great!!! This is a fucking snap, a breeze. I feel like I am going to be fine in a week. Awesome. I put on makeup, go to the doctor, and she is pleased that I feel so great. No one warns me that at some point this will all come crashing down, but I am aware that lots of people have different reactions and could possibly feel good right away. Whatever. Still feeling great that night, and then Friday happens.

Friday. Exorcist, the Beginning seems to be playing out inside my bowels. I really haven’t eaten that much, so not sure what the deal is (and in my drug-induced state, I completely forget about ALL THE DRUGS in my system.) I have only had gas pains this bad one other time, and it was only memorable because my boyfriend and I had just gotten together and I felt like an idiot. I had to lie on his floor to try and make them go away. Somehow, the pain this time is actually worse, and a fine, thin layer of sweat breaks out over my entire body. Please remember the importance of the fact that I am not supposed to strain, which rules out any farting. Try not farting. Just try. It sucks. My stomach continues to Ramble On with no relief until Sunday. That’s an entire weekend of pain, y’all. And it ain’t no surgery pain, neither. I can feel it rolling around. Jesus. So I feel like a PUSSY and GROSS because it is stupid to be in pain because of gas. And then…Sunday happens.

Sunday. Gas is mysteriously gone. But now I am nauseous. Could the gas somehow seeped into my stomach and made me sick? I know this is not the medical deduction that is correct, but remember I have not only been in pain for three days, but am still on drugs. Brain is by now addled with misery. Now I can’t eat. Alright, I am not what you would call a tiny girl, and I like my freaking food. Every time I get near any food substance for the next 4 days, I feel sick. I cry and beg for mercy, as this seems ridiculous, and I just want to recover and not feel like shit for 1 day. Too bad. I finally call the doctor and ask her what is wrong with me. She calls me in to the office. I have an inner ear infection. What’s that you say? This doesn’t happen very often? Sorry, I couldn’t HEAR you with all the INFECTION up in my EARS. What the fuck. Well, this now explains the nausea and the general misery. I now have to take eardrops and antibiotics. And to make matters worse, I have resorted to drinking Ensure. Nutritious, and delicious. I miss pizza and potatoes. I dream about them. Finally, by Thursday, I am starting to feel normal again. Just in time for…

Another Friday. Hey, thanks for going away, Ear Infection!!! Glad you could be parting ways with me and my fucked up body!! Hey, can you bring your friend Gas Pain back, right on cue, as you leave? Because that would fucking make my week. Great, so glad we could arrange this, because I had no idea what it was going to be like to spend a weekend not feeling miserable! Thanks! Can you possibly arrange it to where this lasts for three days again? Awesome. I proceed to buy any over-the-counter gas medicine my boyfriend can get his hands on (since I can’t drive.) None of it works. It is now Monday, 2 weeks after surgery, and I still feel like shit. Great. I call the doctor, and she says to buy Gas-X, the ONLY brand I had not bought. Somehow, it works like magic. I will never buy anything else in my entire life. I am now eating it around the clock. Stay away, Evil Gas Demon. I do not like you. You have made me miserable and rude and short of hysterical. Then, after one night’s decent sleep…

That weekend. I start bleeding. I am thinking, hey, I had this surgery to NOT do that anymore. So this can only mean something is wrong. Come to find out, I have busted an internal suture. Hurray!!! There’s no pain, but I have to wear MAXI-PADS which I haven’t used since I was 12, which also involves wearing underwear, something I am NOT a fan of. This seems to last forever. I get really tired very fast, and have to sit down after doing one load of laundry. I have watched every movie on HBO and I have crossed over to the Sundance Channel to broaden my artistic horizons. I have also developed an addiction to Puzzle Pirates, an online game of simple yet frustrating puzzles. It is a sad day when all you can think about is what costume to dress your little Girl Pirate in, and wonder how you will ever make enough pieces o’ eight to purchase that awesome sword. I have made little online pirate friends. I cry in the mirror. This lasts until, well, now. It’s still going on.

End of fourth week…Still bleeding from the busted suture, we are now in real time for this portion of our story. I am now anxious to go back to work, as I am feeling better daily, but because of the stupid suture the doc said I have to wait at least another week, and then we will determine whether or not I can go back. I am also anxious to go back to work as we are now poor. I have not yet received any short-term disability funds, even though the paperwork has been in since the 8^th day of my absence from work. Since my company switched all the insurance, and my policy is new, I was told by our insurance broker that it would “take a little bit longer than normal.” Ha HA! What’s normal? What’s longer than that? Of course they think I’m joking and don’t even answer that question. Now I call them every day just to piss someone off. It’s a good thing that I really didn’t need that money to live on or anything. I’m breaking out the sterno and candles tomorrow, since they will soon cut off our lights. Just kidding. Maybe not. Although my Subaru might get repossessed, and that’s a fucking tragedy. Either that or a giant check that will be retro’d back to my surgery date will show up on a Cloud from Jesus and the day will be saved. Meanwhile, it’s getting difficult to get inventive with the groceries we have left. I have all day to plan something though, so…tonight it’s Beef Kabobs.

End of fifth week. My check should be here today, making life a little bit easier. Feeling good, finally, and was released from the doc to go back to work on Monday. Looking forward to it, even though it will be difficult to get back into the hellish swing that is my job. Good thing I have refills on Xanax. I think this will be the end of my recovery story, and for those of you that have been wondering all along about the title, (even though some may have gotten the reference to the 60’s show, and the Arrested Development episode as well) it is really because after all of this is over, my diseased, sad giant uterus will have cost as much as a really nice STI. Hooray insurance.

Why Girls Cry