So yesterday was B-Day (boobies, breasts, bazoombas, whatever). I arrived at the hospital pretty relaxed ready to get it over with; yank the sucker out was my mantra. The surgical area was full and I think this is going to take awhile. I walk up to the counter and try and give the receptionist my frequent flier mileage card along with insurance card; I figure this thing could take me to Italy and back maybe a couple of times. They unfortunately do not accept that. But she makes sure I sign all my rights over, it’s not their fault if they mess up or some surgical tool goes missing or etc. At this point she hands me a “call you when we are ready Outback Steakhouse beeper”, huh? Are they trying to torture me since they know I have not eaten since yesterday and now I swear I can smell garlic mashed potatoes? “When this goes off please come back up to the desk”… and my table will be ready? No smile, but I only had to wait 10 minutes or so and then I got to try my joke again on a new person, no luck, tough audience. As I round the corner to head to my next space I run into someone I know. Most people do this at the grocery store I wait until I’m at a hospital go figure. She is someone I’ve known for around 23 years (yes since I was three) and it’s good she’s there because now she demands the staff that they laugh at my jokes and instantly I know this will a better day (I’m pitiful I know). So next my nurse tells me to strip off everything, put everything in the marked bags, put on gown and hospital appointed socks. I immediately asked about the undies, must I remove them since there no reason anyone should be down that way anyway and blah blah. “Sure you can wear them but sometimes people pee a little when the come out of the anesthetic and I wouldn’t want to wear wet panties home” all saying this as she walks out the door… crap crap crap. I suddenly have to pee and all I think about is wetting myself, this thought is now greater then scalpels, boob removal, or death. I am one messed up thinker. Ok, after peeing 3 or four times the anesthesiologist comes in and we decide that I don’t have any vices except for the crazy biting of the nails( what can I say I’m a party animal). At this point he also states the doctor may take pictures … for scrap booking, the internet, to laugh at at parties, I’m stressing a little now with the whole peeing myself and I may be on someone’s My Space page. My girlfriend comes back in and we chat then she asks who’s doing the surgery. I tell her and her reply is “She’s a bitch but she great with boobs”, crap… incontinence, youtube, and now I’m afraid to ask any questions because the doc may attack me. Of course when the doctor finally comes in I keep moving out of her way like a bobble head, if she comes on my right I lean all the way to the left and back and forth. She wants to examine the lump again and at this point she may think she has bad breath because of the distance I’m keeping. While poking at my bump she mentions that unfortunately its “inconveniently located”, at this point I want to be a smart ass but I’m afraid of her and the wrath she could bring so I ask how can I help her (wimp). She states that it’s in the cleavage area, I nod like I know what she’s talking about then puzzled I say “cleavage?” The only cleavage I ever have is unintentional or accidental, maybe this is what I been missing out on in life? No she doesn’t want me to have a scar there and because where she is going to cut I may have some more bruising (lets just say where she wants to cut I won’t ever get to show my scar without the possibility of arrest.) I say whatever you need to do… she’s the one with the carving knife remember. And then drug guy shoots me up and I don’t remember anything. Although looking at my naked self I do wonder who slathered on the butt load of oompa loompa orange but gave up a quarter of the way through because of boredom and who casted my boob up so it was nowhere near the other one, now they look like Marty Feldman’s eyes (Google him) and god knows what else occurred… Today I’m pretty sure someone threw a bowling ball at me and I didn’t catch it… I’m must have my narcotics... Oh and doctor’s appointment Friday cross your fingers I’m in the clear…
Disclaimer: this story was written under the influence.
No comments:
Post a Comment