Friday, April 13, 1999


Out of control. My whole life was now out of my control. Down to the simple fact that I couldn’t even drive myself to the hospital. My best friend at the time was supposed to take me, but she decided that morning that she was too sick and so I had to call my mom and dad. I had just seen her right before I started the cleaning out process and she was fine. So I have no idea. (No, we haven’t been friends for years now. That’s a whole other story)

I smoked all my cigarettes the day before, so none of them to calm my nerves before surgery. Anxiety and nicotine withdrawal working together made me a very unhappy camper.

There was a woman trying to get an epidural line up my spine, but apparently my spine curves and after she had been screwing around for ten minutes I told her to get the hell away from me. So no epidural. Probably a good thing, I probably would have been allergic to something in the drugs anyway.

Alone lying in that room with eight other people all waiting to have surgery. I was scared out of my mind, with nothing but time to think. As each minute passed I got more anxious. I considered leaving in the hospital gown because they had taken my clothes away and put them somewhere that I couldn’t get to them.

One of the nurses sensed my anxiety (probably from my wicked tongue whenever anyone tried to do something to me.) and asked the doctor to order me to be sedated. That was a whole other picnic. They couldn’t find the veins in my arm and so they opted for the top of my hand which was uncomfortable as hell (and my hand after surgery was three times its normal size from the IV). But I was asleep in no time and have no recollection of anything, except bits and pieces, until days later. Even the days after the hospital stay are all confused in my brain.

Today I’m grateful for:

1. I’m glad to finally be able to tell my story.

2. The great dinner I made myself last night.

3. I have food to eat.


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