So it’s been three weeks since my surgery, and I was really hoping that my funny writing mojo would’ve returned by now. But I guess most, if not all, of my creative energy is being used to heal my body, which, ok, I guess I can live with that.
But I also want to get past this “not-writing” energy habit, because I could easily see three weeks of not writing turning into three months or more. So today I am going to write something (with no guarantees about its quality) so I can start to break through this invisible force field of resistance.
So I guess I will tell the tale of my little adventure in surgery, because otherwise this post would just consist of me yelling things like, “Dammit, Tigger! Stop peeing in my office!” And you know, there’s only so much narrative juice you can squeeze out of something like that.
So that lovely week started off as so many of my weeks do, with multiple doctors’ appointments, neither of which were close to me, and neither of which were close to each other.
At one appointment I got to have some more blood drawn due to my elevated liver function. That was really scary for me, because the doctor didn’t really explain what that was or why that was happening, and then he murmured something about possibly needing an MRI of my liver, and so that was when I pulled a hefty dose of Denial out of my toolkit and did everything in my power to pretend that that experience was not actually happening.
Then at my second appointment I got to check in with my sleep doctor and order more supplies for my CPAP machine, including my “mask of choice”, AKA “The Pig Snout”. I was also all set to practice some personal sovereignty, defined as Being The Queen (or King) of Your Own Internal Space, which I’ve been learning about lately from Havi Brooks and Hiro Boga. Because I absolutely LOATHE having to be weighed and having to talk about my weight every single damn time I have to go and see a doctor, because DUDE-I’ve already got enough stuff to deal with without having to add Feeling Bad Because Of My Weight to the mix.
So this time I just told the nurse what number to write down, and then while I was waiting for the doctor I decided what I would say to him if he dared to bring up “The-W-word”. Namely this: “I’m sorry, but we’re not currently accepting feedback on anything related to weight at this time. We are only accepting feedback related to CPAP and sleep issues.”
So I was all set with my fun answer, but as it turned out he never even mentioned “The W-Word at all.” Apparently my inner sovereignty was so powerful that it flowed out to meet him before he even came into the examination room. So, YAY me!
And then I made it through the rest of the week until about midnight on Saturday, at which time commenced The Battle Between My Body And The Agents of The Hostile Takeover.
A few hours earlier I started having the most God-awful pain in my right side. This had happened to me before, and it was really scary because nothing I did seemed to help it at all. And while it was here I was absolutely incapable of finding any relief. No pain medicine even touched it, and no position, no matter how much I contorted myself, brought me any relief.
Now you all know I have fibromyalgia (a chronic pain disorder), among MANY OTHER health issues, so you know I know from pain. But I’ve got to tell you that this was absolutely The Worst pain I’ve ever felt in my entire life. But I was prepared to white-knuckle my way through it-AGAIN-until I started throwing up, which had never happened during any of my previous attacks. So that, combined with the fact that I was unable to manage the pain AT ALL, convinced me to ask my husband to take me to the emergency room, where our adventure will pick up next time.