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hunter

(38,311 posts)
Tue Nov 19, 2013, 06:34 PM Nov 2013

Hunter's personal weather forecast...

... invasive medical procedure with possibility of "worse" or same old shit. (Something lesser would be nice.)

I will speak no more of this while I am Schrödinger's cat in a box.

It would be bad luck.

Or maybe I'm really just another sort of drama queen.

But I'd rather think of myself as a good "Dr. Who," not my crazy grandma who bit paramedics or my brother who overturned mattresses and threw I.V. hangers (bags and tubes attached) out the hospital window. Or my wife who rioted in the surgical recovery room demanding to see her babies which the hospital staff and I did accomplish and then she fell peacefully asleep nursing our newborn with a couple of other post surgical patients moaning placidly in the background.

Dr. Who. That's the theme song I want playing in my head under "Conscious Sedation." I strive to be a force for good.


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Hunter's personal weather forecast... (Original Post) hunter Nov 2013 OP
Best of luck Hunter HereSince1628 Nov 2013 #1
Hooray! It's just the same old shit. hunter Nov 2013 #2
Vibes, brother. Feral Child Mar 2014 #3

HereSince1628

(36,063 posts)
1. Best of luck Hunter
Tue Nov 19, 2013, 09:35 PM
Nov 2013

I've thrown things in intensive care after by-pass surgery.

Well, actually I threw ONE thing.

I'm sure no one really gives a shit about it anymore.

hunter

(38,311 posts)
2. Hooray! It's just the same old shit.
Thu Nov 21, 2013, 04:20 PM
Nov 2013

Bad news would have meant major surgery. My wife has experienced many multi-hour major surgeries. I'm not so tough as she is. It's not "fair" either, she has a very healthy lifestyle and always has. Random bad things happen to good people.

I've gotta say Fentanyl and Versed are not as fun as I was promised. I did not "sleep," did not forget, did not lose my usual analytical man-of-very-few-words demeanor. It wasn't like a "dream" or even one of those nightmares where people are doing unspeakable things to you and for some reason you don't or can't move.

They could have saved some money and given me a shot of good tequila. Or skipped the tequila but then what would I have had to look forward to? I'm happy to take off my clothes anywhere it's appropriate, and pain I can deal with because I always hurt. But I do not like strangers touching me, stabbing me with needles and knives, blood, or any of that medical stuff. I did not like this procedure, drugged or not. (I've never experienced a drug besides beer or wine that I'd bother to use "recreationally." The only drug that really scares me is prednisone. I like that but after a few days it makes my mental health problems much worse, not to mention the other bad side effects of regular oral corticosteroid use.)

Anyways, when they were done with the procedure they wheeled me into the recovery room, beds separated by curtains, a couple of people sleeping or quietly exploring their own alternate realities. The nurse pointed out my clothes and told me I could get dressed whenever I was ready. I was already ready.

They signed me out to my wife. The wheelchair ride to the car didn't seem necessary. But maybe that's why they are so insistent that someone else take you home. It's possible I was not a good judge of my own capabilities. But that's no different than my normal mental states. (I take drugs to maintain my "normal" functional mental state. If I desire a dysfunctional mental state all I have to do is quit my meds. The consequences of quitting my meds are never good.)

A few hours after the procedure I felt yucky and hurt a little more than usual, but that was it.




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