February 28, 2007
Originally published March 29, 2006
I once thought that the Chevy Impala that I inherited from Mama was a smooth-riding car. I was mistaken. After going to the doctor for my post-surgical follow-up visit, I am thoroughly convinced that the goddam car rides like a pulpwood truck and it can find every bump in the road from Rincon to Savannah, no matter how hard the driver tries to avoid them.
That trip to town and back beat the shit out of me.
But I DID get my staples removed and the doctor said that I was healing nicely. A nurse took a sample of my blood to check for deadly, flesh-eating bacteria. I am NOT making that up. The doc told me that the kind of ulcer I had, which ate clean through my duodenum, usually is caused by a hostile bacteria in the stomach. If I've got it, they want to de-worm me to get rid of it. I'm all for that idea if it'll keep me from another trip to the hospital. I'll drink cod liver oil AND castor oil if it keeps me from being cut again.
I bitched and moaned about being in a lot of pain, but the doctor was unimpressed. He asked me what the hell I EXPECTED, considering the fact that I dumped raw stomach acid into my abdominal cavity for quite a while before he plugged the leak. I was not only half-assed when I arrived at the hospital--- I was half-digested internally, too. That shit is supposed to hurt.
Evidentally, based on how I feel, it's doing what it is supposed to do, because it hurts like hell. The doc gave me a refill on my pain medication and ran me off. I went home, took two pills and ate a couple of cherry popcicles; then, I fell asleep on the couch and slept for 14 hours. I enjoyed that sleep so much that I kept it up almost all day and all night yesterday, too. I think I've been awake for about 12 of the last 48 hours and asleep the rest of the time.
I feel better today. I ain't ready for any tree-climbing or sport-fucking just yet, but I'm getting there. The doc said that I'll need four to six weeks to get halfway back to normal and I'm at two weeks and three days right now. That's halfway to halfway, isn't it? More or less? I mean, this is the point where things start getting BETTER every day and I don't have any more relapses, right?
Besides--- I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. I have a garden to plant before I miss the weather. Hell, I haven't even been in my hot tub this month. That's enough fucking around. I gotta get well.
Before I forget--- thanks to everyone who offered to come by and "take care" of me during my recouperation. I'll repeat what I said when you offered the favor: Thanks, but NO THANKS. You don't WANT to be near me when I'm ailing. I am a pitiful, whining, obnoxious patient who could make YOU feel miserable after an hour of being around me, and make you want to KILL me after three hours.
No, I prefer to recover on my own. I've got enough enemies already without creating new ones right now. Besides, I don't want to survive this surgery just to end up planted on a testicle farm by a disgruntled nurse. All things considered, I'm better off alone.
At least I posted something today.
All content © Rob Smith