(Luke was inexplicably either nervous or just snippy before my surgery, for the last couple of days. He kept telling me, "You're gonna die." I insisted I was *not* going to die from this simple procedure, but he kept it up, which made me uneasy. "You don't want your mom to die, Luke," I told him. "No, I don't," he answered. He knows I have a fear of being knocked out, maybe that's where it came from, I don't know. But his insistence was a nervousness I didn't need compounded upon my own.)
While waiting on the operating table, which is always eerie, looking at the trays of instruments and bright lights, shot up with Ativan, the nurse was asking me, "Are you relaxed yet?" with me answering a vehement "NO." One more shot of Ativan and I was more or less relaxed, though they couldn't seem to *find* an anesthesiologist. I lied there, strapped on the table, secured with a giant seatbelt and encased in blankets until some random dude waltzed in, didn't introduce himself, and said he was the guy, slapped a mask on my face and said "You're going to sleep now," to which I said, "No, I'm not." How they got me into and out of the position necessary for this procedure, I'm not sure, but it had to be a pip to watch. The next thing I heard was "Wake up, Andrea, we're all done." Well, m'kay. The procedure went as expected, I sort of got Roto-Rooted out and some biopsies were taken, and though I'm still crampy, the (TMI fellas) bleeding completely stopped and I'm going back to work today. The pathology report should be back in a couple of days, and Stosh will probably call me with the results before my OB/GYN does, as she's going on vacation for a week and told me she'd talk to me around the New Year, which would keep me on edge too damn long. I'm sure there's nothing wrong with my uterus, but they were, you know, ruling out the C word again, which is never a pleasant thing to wait to hear.
they say they come to pray to the Lord
but when my little girl, looks so fine
In the evening when the sun is sinkin' low
Everybody's with the one they love
I walk the town, Keep a-searchin' all around
Lookin' for my street corner girl"
Unbeknownst to me, that sneaky Tatus swung by the hospital while I was still in surgery to check on me and once he found out I was still in the operating room, chose to leave instead of waiting for me to appear in recovery, which is very sweet of him but kinda sucks because I'm so used to seeing him when I wake up from anesthesia when I have operations at Resurrection. He's always in recovery when I wake up from operations and I'm sort of used to that...his face being the first I remember after the daze of anesthesia. He "happened to be in the area" on his first day of vacation and didn't stop in the office, just at the hospital.
Part of the clusterfuck was that he forgot to put in the cardiac clearance letter that I need to be super-hydrated via IV before, during and after the operation because I dehydrate very quickly. So I worked that out with the staff myself, and was properly hydrated, so yay. Such things happen, like typing my name as "Andrew" instead of "Andrea" when your Tatus has been up and working since 3am the day he writes your clearance letter himself.
He got me something cryptic for Christmas, which makes my gift to him look banal in comparison. Part of his gift is practical and special and awesome and part of it rocks, but he said he got me something that I'll love that everyone else would hate because I'm such a "non-conformist." Read: he thinks I'm weird. I'm giddy with anticipation wondering what it is, just hoping it's not something I need to keep alive, because I have enough trouble maintaining my parakeet. Mis-matched socks? A silly hat? A Chia Pet? A dead ferret? We have to make a plan to make a plan to exchange gifts, as plan-making is a vital part of our relationship, and it usually falls on me to suggest said plan, and for him to comply. Hoping to have it narrowed down by New Year's but willing to wait.
He did call me Monday night on his way home from men's group at church, where they were discussing why God allows suffering in the world, which had to be a hum-dinger of a discussion, of which I would be very interested in the spiritual perspective. He said he wanted to hear my voice and make sure I was okay, which was very nice of him, indeed. I wanted to hear his voice too. I filled him in on the procedure, told him what we're doing for Christmas, and we exchanged plans of having to visit with the dysfunctional sides of both of our families for the holidays. We wished one another a Merry Christmas again, as we did the other night when we parted after work and he hugged me in front of the whole hospital, which was a little unnerving but totally cool in retrospect, because we're close friends and who cares who sees us together, when at first I was totally nervous about us being seen by someone we knew or worse yet, someone looking out the window of our office. But fuck 'em. I wanted him to walk me to my car in the parking lot but he said he didn't care who saw us, so there we were left on the sidewalk of the entrance to the hospital. Who cares? I needed my hug and kiss on the forehead from my friend.
(Hare Krishna! Pandora is stuck on a 45 minute Indian raga it won't let me fast-forward through. Chanting is involved. I love Indian ragas as much as the next Christian Hindu w/Buddhist tendencies, but 45 minutes' worth? Jesus Christ!)
Speaking of mis-matched socks, I grabbed a pair of Luke's yesterday morning and they didn't match. Didn't matter much since I spent the day in jammies and Uggs alternating between sleep and sampling my mom's delicious array of freshly-baked Christmas cookies. With any luck, she'll fatten me up to the point where I am over 120 lbs by New Year's. I'm getting close. I best not get too heavy, however, or I might not fit into my new "Skinny Little Bitch" t-shirt that I received as a gift from a loved one for the holiday season, mostly as a joke towards those insensitive folks who like to say "I wish I had whatever disease Andrea has so I could be as skinny as she is!" Seriously, someone said that to me. Ignorant.
My shopping is largely done, aside from stocking stuffers for Luke and something for my supervisor at work. What to get her, I have no idea. I know she's into leopard print EVERYTHING, but otherwise I have literally no idea what to get her that's under $10. No one said it had to be tasteful, I guess.
Today, I'm giving the rest of the doctors their gifts. I got Nab "The Concert for George" (Harrison) on CD, since he's a big Beatle head, and it's just a great concert. I got Dr. C a daily affirmations for cynics flip-calendar book, perfect for him. And I got Lips a set of 96 varieties of tea bags, which should keep him out of trouble for a while.
Mrs. Lips sent me a lovely Christmas card from the Lips family. Too bad she addressed it to "Mr. and Mrs. Miklasz and Family." Ironic, since it's Lips who always hassles me because I'm divorced. Evidently, word didn't travel to Mrs. Lips when she filled out the cards that I'm single and a mom, so it looked like the card was addressed to my parents, including my dead father.
Speaking of my dead father, a triumphant move in the Miklasz household! My mom actually put a picture of herself with my father in a frame and on the entertainment center. It's a great picture of the two of them from the early 70's. I think it was shortly before I was born or when I was a baby. It's the first acknowledgment of my father in the house in 27 years. I think she gave all the other framed pictures of our family to my brother and myself years ago, wanting to rid the house of them. I don't know if she did it for herself, or for us kids, or who's benefit, but I must admit it brought a tear to my eye seeing it up there. Bravo, Ma! That's sort of Christmas present enough for me, anyway. The photo joins pictures of my grandfather as a baby, my mom with her parents as a teenager, Luke's school picture, and an adorable shot of Luke with my grandma from a church picnic when he was 3 or 4, a few years before Gram died.
As referenced above, I've spent a lot of time the last few days listening to Pandora. In suggesting they play me more Led Zeppelin, they complied and threw in one I'd sort of forgotten about but that I love, "Hey Hey, What Can I Do?" Couldn't help but reminded of the events of the last couple of days, and the phone call I received, et al. It's just a great, bluesy, raunchy favorite:
"Sunday morning when we go down to church
See the menfolks standin' in linethey say they come to pray to the Lord
but when my little girl, looks so fine
In the evening when the sun is sinkin' low
Everybody's with the one they love
I walk the town, Keep a-searchin' all around
Lookin' for my street corner girl"
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