And the beat goes on

Ok, so I'm not so good at posting every day. I'll even go so far to say I'm not good at posting every week. But I'll try to get better. I have made the decision to not post the rest of my surgery saga in detail for the soul purpose in being I waited too long to post it & now quite frankly I just really don't have the drive to do so. I will sum up though. I figure it's the least I can do. Kinda like skipping to the end of a movie so you can see what happened instead of watching the whole thing from beginning to end.

So the Friday before surgery I already talked about. Now the following Saturday wasn't as bad but still not one of my favorites. I had to do to work & it was going to be the last day that I'd be working. I had been working mad overtime cause like all fairly young people I didn't sign up for long term disability insurance at work. Because, let's face it, how many late 20 something’s with no children plan ahead for tragedy. Not many & I'm not one of them. Well, not always, anyway my job was short staffed & the new training class hadn't come out yet so we had unlimited overtime. Well I had been working 12-14 hour days for a few weeks straight trying to save some money for the six weeks my doctor said I would be out of work. On top of that by the time I go back to work I need to have a vehicle & an apartment. However, the Nazi loser best friend of mine named Raquita wouldn't me work anymore overtime. Why does she get to tell me what to do you may ask? Well since we all know I don't have a car of my own, I'm playing Scarlet O'Hara & must "... depend on the kindness of strangers." She's my ride on Saturdays & wouldn't take me sooner than I was scheduled. But when I got there I was asked to be a floor walker after the team manager left for the evening till the night lead came in. Won't go into detail what all that is but I will say it's a bit of a pain since I have found the older people get the less likely they are to willingly take orders (for lack of a better word) from someone younger than they are. In the mist of this oh so pleasant day (flag), Quita calls me to let me know that the hospital had yet another system crash & all my info was lost, again. So I had to go back to the hospital sometime before my surgery on that Monday to get more blood work done. Nice (Big flag).
Moving on to Sunday. A few things to note about this day; 1) it’s Sunday & it just so happens to be Easter. 2) I'm in ass backward St. Louis & EV-ER-Y-THING is closed. Like it's Christmas or something. Understanding of course that it's to commemorate the same person but COME ON.
Look, I lived in Vegas for a long time so I'll admit I'ma little spoiled when it come to things always being open when I need them so this kinda cheesed me off real nice. Why? I had been trying for a while to get this flash for Quita's birthday, researched it & everything. Knew where I could pick it up a little cheaper than what she & I had found on the net, had a contact that said I could use his discount (groovy), & we're clear to go. I had to get it done before my surgery because it was suppose to be a surprise & anyone who knows this wanker knows that it is damn near impossible to surprise this girl. That & I wasn't going to be mobile before she was going to need the flash for a job. She's an absolute fabulous photographer, not that she'll ever admit it herself. And please let’s not forget I still have to go back to the hospital to get everything done all over again. To sum it all up, I never got the flash that day & when I got to the hospital the surgery center was closed. Even though it was were they told me to go. Had to get a little cheeky with a security guard & end up spending an hour at the hospital getting my blood drawn in the front of the hospital by a lab tech. The rest of my Sunday was spent with Raquita's family watching various children get sugared up on Easter candy & snow cones.
My Monday, surgery day, is a total blur. I lost that day. I only remember the first half before I went into the surgical room & a little afterward when I woke up a few times after. Let me just say this. If you ever find yourself in a position to be the person that is at the bed side of a surgical patient, don't eat anything in front of them. It's rude. Rude & a little cruel. Okay, so Quita & I get to the surgical center in the hospital & my best friend since high school's mom (Momma Sykes) is waiting for us. I wanted Momma Sykes there for a few reasons; 1) she's a registered nurse & I wanted someone there who could read a chart & understand all the medical lingo that was bound to be used while I was in a medicated comma. 2) she's my mom. The closest thing I have here to a maternal figure. She's always been there for me. Sometimes whether I liked it or not. I'm grown up enough to say that I wanted my mommy there, I don't care. Don't judge me. Anyway, when we get to the hospital & I sign in they give me this paging device that lights up & vibrates. So like the nut jobs Raquita & I are we start making jokes. You know, the pagers looked like the ones at Chili's or Macaroni Grill so it was like curb side surgery to go. It was great & it took my mind off the surgery, a little. Now, because one of my best friends & her mother are both registered nurses I concede to a little bias but dude these nurses at Christian NE don't know how to shit. The nurse that was putting in my IV hit the wrong vein or something cause the needle wouldn't go in at all & then it fell out. I don't know about you but if inadiment objects don't have confidence in your capabilities then why should I. I'm just saying.
Disclaimer: The rest of Monday being listed I got second hand so I'm not responsible if the specifics are not all together, um all together.
As it turns out I lost a lot of blood on the table so they pumped my body full of fluids at a really fast pace. Then the chief resident over the cardiovascular department wanted to give me three units of blood to replace what I lost after I got out. My mother politely told him that wasn't going to happen (Big, big flag). But because they had started this process (I think) before they told her my heart rate had gone up really really high. Did I happen to mention that I was in the recovery room for nine hours? And in the course of that nine hour time frame the formidable women I have the absolute humbling pleasure of calling my friends commenced to eloquently curse out a good portion of the Christian NE Hospital staff because they kept me in recovery for so long. Not only that but they kept me on a stretcher & not in a bed. First, they were waiting for a room. When the room was ready they didn't want to move me because of my heart rate. I heard tale no one is normally allowed in the recovery room but my mother persuaded them to change their mind. (Please tell me you see the sarcasm flags, people, please.) I get moved to the observation wing of the cardiovascular floor because of my heart rate till the next morning. My doctor came up the next morning & told them to move me. I stay there two days longer that I wanted to cause they released me on Thursday. I had four small fibroids removed & one great big honking one that weighed six pounds. I call it Fred. I figure anything that was in my stomach for four years & weighs six pounds deserves a name. Hell, I'm trying to get it a social security number so I can claim him as a dependant on my taxes next year. I need the extra money.
So that was my surgery experience. Before this I had never been in a hospital, other than birth. I think I had pneumonia when I was a kid, not sure. It wasn't the most traumatic thing I've ever experienced but it's not something I'd like to do again. Although I've been told I may have to but that's another time. I'm still recovering & there are a few other stories I have. But we'll just call that the recovery saga.