Well, happy THAT'S over

I am bogging in bed, so no fancy formatting from the laptop (which was top of the line 4 years ago, but now is an old clunker, an embarrasssment, a paperweight waiting to happen.)

The short version:

Gf was an amazing caretaker superhero yesterday, and the surgery and recovery went well. I am not someone who generally takes well to being taken care of (one step too far in the direction of being told what to do, if you ask me) but it was just so lovely to have someone to sit with, be bored with, and get cranky with for the nearly four hours we were stuck in the pre-surgery waiting room (which was blessedly private, so I could thrash and whine and throw things in frustration as much as I felt like.)... And then someone to carry my clothes, hold my glasses, and to kiss me one-last-time before I toddled into the OR in my ridiculous hospital gowns and disposable slipper-socks (with their rubberized dog paw prints for traction on the waxed-within-an-inch-of-its-life hospital floor)...and someone to tell the ornery recovery room nurse off when she kept insisting I was not ready to go... someone to back me up when I said no-effin'-way am I getting in that wheelchair to be wheeled to the elevators.... And someone to subtly steady my wobbly post-anasthesia walk so that the same nurse wouldn't notice that my recovery wasn't quite up to my bluster.

The long version:

We arrived at 10:30 a.m. for my 11 o'clock appointment, after I hadn't eaten solid food in 36 hours (they day before I was on clear fluids, which happily allowed me to drink 800 cups of coffee in the morning, eat 163 strawberry popsicles in the afternoon, and consume roughly 24 bottles of beer and 3 bottles of wine for the evening meal.) Unfortunatley for everyone, I was allowed nothing after midnight, and no coffee that morning-- which makes me the diurnal equivalent of a Gremlin.

We were told to go into the pre-ambulatory surgery waiting rooms, each a little cublicle with a window, a computer (no external internet, poo!) a TV we instantly turned off to avoid further fighting over the declining status of out respective 401(k)s and what to do about it, a reclining vinyl chair for the patient and an conference table-type chair for the partner. I was given two paper-fiber robes, one to wear front-to back, the other back-to-front, those stupid "Bare Paws" slipper-socks and instructions to get naked "like the day you were born". Fortunately, gf and I had the foresight to remove my belly button ring the night before, which was not an easy feat even with gf's dextrous surgeon's fingers and two pairs of borrowed pliers-- borrowed from my ex across the hall, no less!

Then began the waiting.

Me: "What time is it?"
Gf, head in Spanish book: "Son las....(mumbling in Sapnish under her breath)... OHN-say ee... (more mumbling) VAIN-tay."

Me: "What time is it?"
Gf: "Son las MAY-dee-uh-DEE-a MAY-nos (mumbling)....OH-chay."

This fertility undertaking is really helping her spanish. Soon she had it down:

Me: "What time is it?"
Gf: "Es la una y tres"
...
"What time is it?"
"Es la una y veinte y dos"

(To hell with Spanish. I throw my New Yorker aginst the wall.)
"I AM FREAKIN STARVING IN HERE, G*DDAMMIT!!"

...
"What time is it?"

And so on. Until about 2:00, when the anasthesiologist ventured in with some papers to sign, and said before scurrying out, "Ok! See you hopefully soon," which sounded to me and gf by that time like it could be another day or two.

Then Dr. Who-The-Hell-Are-You Resident came in after checking my chart and walking past on three successive occasions. He didn't look me in the eye or respond to my questions, but told me basically that if there were a life-and-death situation he wouldn't know what the hell to do because he'd never seen one before:

"I have to tell you that there is always a chance that if we encounter bleeding we can't control we may have to progress to an open procedure."
Me: "Ok, how often would you expect that to happen?"
Dr. WTHAY: "Well we would only do it if it were a life-and-death situation. It is extremely rare-- I have never seen it."
Me: "Ha, well okay-- so what you're saying is that you have no experience in handling such a situation should it arise?"

Okay, maybe I was a bit snarkier than need be, but his reaction was less that comforting, telling me essentially that he just had to get my informed consent for being operated on by an amateur, and then someone would be back to take me to the OR. I could be paranoid but I got the distinct impression that he wouldn't be trying awfully to hard to stop any unccontrollable bleeding in my case.

After gf kissed me 332 one-last-kisses, a lovely nurse guided me to the OR and positioned my a** on the operating table, which was like an obscene massage table with all manner of obscene cut outs for access to all orifices. They strapped me down and the anasthesioogist (not the the nice Asian lady but a brusque Russian lady who was her assistant) started an IV. Then Dr. K arrived, all good cheer and heartiness which made me feel very happy, until he said, "Wait! Before you put her out--" then he stooped under me and put his hand under my a**, which was positioned right over one of the holes in the dirty massage table....

"YES! I feel that!" I said as he tickled my crack (through layers of sterile drapes, thankfully.)
And then I remember no more until the nice Asian anasthesiologist spoke to me, "Hello! How do you feel?"

It's amazing they can turn it on and off so quickly.

They rolled me into recovery, where I dozed for a little while until gf came and brought me my book and magazine. The ornery recovery room nurse kicked her out after just a few minutes, even though the womann in the next curtained bed had her husband with her the whole time. F^ckers. By then I was bored and hungry again and thinking about the udon I was going to have when I got out, but ornery nurse kept telling me to put the book down, to rest. We went back and forth on my "resting" for a while until gf snuck in behind someone being wheeled in. Haha-- this is why I love her so... she came blazin' in saying,

"Aren't you ready yet?"
I was like, "I'm STARVIN', get me outta here!"

Ornery nurse looked distinctly annoyed. Gf then placed an order for udon pick up, got me my clothes and wheedled ornery nurse into giving me my discharge instructions.

Quick stop at Rite Aid for my prescription strength Motrin and some pads for the bleeding bits of uterus still coming out of me, and we were on our way.

Gf set me up with some delicious udon, and "crazy hot roll" with spicy salmon and jalapenos and some lovely Poppy Pinot Noir (the "No alcohol for 24 hours" post-op instruction cheerfully ignored.)

We then ate ourselves into a happy food coma on the udon and sushi (gf had fasted with me, save for a couple of handfuls of Cheerios and a muffin from the hospital caferia) and fell asleep watching Margaret Cho's Assassin. Love that woman!

So that's the boring update from the observation womb.

As I wrote, my karmawreck roomate came in, who was sadly absent for all the late night bumbling we did. Today I ccan torment her with the stream of guests and well-wishers who will be appearing throughout the day to bring food and help manage my chores. Laundry anyone?