Alright, so my friend Jill (haha still sounds weird) had some surgery today. And when I say some surgery, I mean it! She had these weird "child's fingers"-like bones in her mouth that had to be removed....I don't really know how and frankly I don't care. It's doesn't sound fun at all (except for the vicodin part).
Now apparently Jill is one of the 3 people who actually like reading my blog and she might be the only one who looks forward to it. So in honor of Jill being laid up full of good drugs I've decided to post some funny stories within the next few days that might entertain someone who is nice and drugged up and stuck in their home.
Really, Sara? What kind of funny stories do you plan to tell?
Well, I'm not gonna lie...part of me did entertain the thought of digging up some random, embarrassing stories from back when I used to date her husband...you know, like the time right after high school when he decided to take me on his yearly camping trip. Yes, that is right, you can all stop laughing now...I went camping. And I'm not talking the nice kind of camping with bathrooms, showers, parking spots for your RV and a bar. Nope. I'm talking canoeing, portaging, peeing in the woods and bathing in the river....ok now you can laugh.
While I look back on it fondly as a learning experience, over time I have realized the only thing I learned from that trip is that I don't like to camp. (Sorry Nick)
But no, I thought that might be inappropriate.
Instead I thought I would tell a humorous story from one of my surgeries.
Now I say "one" because I have had many. Long story short, I have a disease call Fibrous Dysplaysia in my left tibia which makes that bone weaker and not grow as fast as the rest of my body. Layman's terms? By the time I was 13 my left leg had broken twice, never re healed and was 3 1/2 inches shorter than my right. Or as my friend Dani would put it...I'm a fucking cripple.
We had a choice to make. Lose my leg or try a relatively "newer" procedure in which they would lengthen my leg and in doing so, hoped to heal it. We went for door number two. It was successful. Awesome.
But I wanna take you back to when I was getting the "fixator" on. Like I said, this was a pretty new procedure in the U.S. My doctor had actually done quite a few but it was a Russian based procedure called the Illizarov technique. So channel 4 news decided that they wanted to do a story on me. All the video cameras show up the night before. They tape me playing Foosball, video games, hanging with my folks and generally being a 13 year old kid. "Look at how normal she is!" And they interviewed my doctor as well. I guess everyone thought it was uber cool that he had to use things like wrenches for this particular surgery.
Cut to the next day. When you were that young having surgery they didn't just stick a needle in your arm and say "Peace out! When you wake up you will have 26 pins sticking out of your leg!" Nope, they wanted you calm. So they come to your room very, very early and give you a pill. I look back and I can only guess that it was the pre teen version of Xanax. This makes a 13 year old girl tired....and bitchy.
Apparently the t.v. cameras couldn't show up when I was even close to coherent. Nope. They show up about 5 minutes before I am to go in the pre-op room and have my hand stuck with the i.v needle (which I was REALLY nervous about) and from my mother's perspective, 5 minutes before her baby was going to have the biggest, longest, craziest surgery to ever happen in the family. Needless to say, neither one of us were in the mood to chat...on camera.
All I can remember is the lights in my face. The fucking lights in my nervous, drugged up face. All my mom can remember is trying to have a fucking moment with my dad as they were wheeling me out of sight into the o.r. and the lights in her face.
Whether or not it's actually true I do remember one other thing.
I remember telling the camera guy to "Get the fuck out of my face!"
They never did run the story.
3 comments:
You're the best internet girlfriend I've ever had! That was a good story but bring on the dirt about my husband. You can't say anything that I don't want to hear!!! Remember... I'm on vicodin. It's all good.
I KNEW you would say that...we'll see.....
After my first Lithotripsy I came to in the recovery room of the hospital, kept calling my black nurse 'Mom', peed grape juice-colored urine, and was told they were going to give me - I think maybe it was demoral - for the pain. I said, "Demoral isn't that what they give to women in labo... oh awesome! Demoral is the shit!" Then the ceiling tiles started breathing, the walls hummed, and my I may have hugged my african american mommy!
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