Three Things to Never Do Again
Cut for squickish content, personal and medical and not at all attractive or interesting.
Three things I would never, ever want to do again, in no particular order.
1. Having my stomach pumped. Some of you may remember this life-altering event. It was not only humiliating, having that tube shoved up my nose and puking all over myself, but it was uncomfortable beyond explanation. There was something inside my head that shouldn't be there. There was something pressed against my gag reflex. It was awful. It felt wrong. I hope none of you ever have to experience that feeling.
2. Coming out of general anaesthesia. One surgery--the gall-bladder-ectomy--was enough for me. I hope I never have to have surgery again. Oh, sure, I don't remember the surgery. And the reason for the surgery, while painful and unpleasant, pales in comparison to first waking up after everything was done. I have never felt so disconnected from myself, so not in control. I was so ridiculously thirsty, but drinking hurt. I had to pee, but nothing came out. Everything came in at this odd delay, the world feeling so wholly unreal. The percocet I was taking afterward wasn't much better. It was like a lessened detachment. With itching. I spent several days feeling separated from the rest of the world, sleeping and waking in two hour cycles.
3. Endometrial biopsy. This was today's new fun experience. I'm so very glad I was given a prescription to fill before hand so that I could premedicate. The pain wasn't too horribly intense, but my gods did it feel weird. It was uncomfortable and bizarre and way less sexy than anything involving my cunt should be. Worth experiencing once for the sheer uniqueness of the sensation, that pinch-and-cramp combination that's just not easily reproducible in your own home, but once is most definitely enough.
Why the biopsy, you ask? I'm really not keen on offering up details, but let's just say that the past month has been miserable, but I think, finally, with the latest bout of tests and the new doctor, everything's coming into focus and resolution is near at hand.
Also, my Halloween was filled with blood and gore and horror. I think I was meant to do more with it than I did, to turn that sanguine suffering into a search for enlightment, to let it be the shedding of spiritual baggage as well as physical. I am constantly letting myself down on this front, and it is always a choice, even if it is a choice by avoidance. Lately, more than ever, I am feeling the need for... communion, guidance, companionship. Where I have looked, I've been turned away, perhaps because I will not press. Mostly, though, I think it is because I must do this on my own. My ache for another to help me is just more avoidance. What fool becomes the master without taking that first blind step? No one is going to hold my hand and help me jump. No one is going to push me. No one can do the work I need to do.
I've had sign after sign after sign after sign, ad nauseum, and I acknowledge than ignore them. They grow increasingly insistent. And I delve further into distraction.
Ah, but this is not what I was writing about. This is not where I wanted to go. It's always the same frustration lately. You've heard it voiced before.
My next list should be of happy things, things worth repeating. I need more of those right now. Speaking of, who wants to chip in on a cake from Sweet Jazmine's? That was so repeatable, and I'm not sure I want to wait seven more months for my anniversary cake. Also, wine tastings. Let's do another of those. Yeah, this'll be a good list...
Three things I would never, ever want to do again, in no particular order.
1. Having my stomach pumped. Some of you may remember this life-altering event. It was not only humiliating, having that tube shoved up my nose and puking all over myself, but it was uncomfortable beyond explanation. There was something inside my head that shouldn't be there. There was something pressed against my gag reflex. It was awful. It felt wrong. I hope none of you ever have to experience that feeling.
2. Coming out of general anaesthesia. One surgery--the gall-bladder-ectomy--was enough for me. I hope I never have to have surgery again. Oh, sure, I don't remember the surgery. And the reason for the surgery, while painful and unpleasant, pales in comparison to first waking up after everything was done. I have never felt so disconnected from myself, so not in control. I was so ridiculously thirsty, but drinking hurt. I had to pee, but nothing came out. Everything came in at this odd delay, the world feeling so wholly unreal. The percocet I was taking afterward wasn't much better. It was like a lessened detachment. With itching. I spent several days feeling separated from the rest of the world, sleeping and waking in two hour cycles.
3. Endometrial biopsy. This was today's new fun experience. I'm so very glad I was given a prescription to fill before hand so that I could premedicate. The pain wasn't too horribly intense, but my gods did it feel weird. It was uncomfortable and bizarre and way less sexy than anything involving my cunt should be. Worth experiencing once for the sheer uniqueness of the sensation, that pinch-and-cramp combination that's just not easily reproducible in your own home, but once is most definitely enough.
Why the biopsy, you ask? I'm really not keen on offering up details, but let's just say that the past month has been miserable, but I think, finally, with the latest bout of tests and the new doctor, everything's coming into focus and resolution is near at hand.
Also, my Halloween was filled with blood and gore and horror. I think I was meant to do more with it than I did, to turn that sanguine suffering into a search for enlightment, to let it be the shedding of spiritual baggage as well as physical. I am constantly letting myself down on this front, and it is always a choice, even if it is a choice by avoidance. Lately, more than ever, I am feeling the need for... communion, guidance, companionship. Where I have looked, I've been turned away, perhaps because I will not press. Mostly, though, I think it is because I must do this on my own. My ache for another to help me is just more avoidance. What fool becomes the master without taking that first blind step? No one is going to hold my hand and help me jump. No one is going to push me. No one can do the work I need to do.
I've had sign after sign after sign after sign, ad nauseum, and I acknowledge than ignore them. They grow increasingly insistent. And I delve further into distraction.
Ah, but this is not what I was writing about. This is not where I wanted to go. It's always the same frustration lately. You've heard it voiced before.
My next list should be of happy things, things worth repeating. I need more of those right now. Speaking of, who wants to chip in on a cake from Sweet Jazmine's? That was so repeatable, and I'm not sure I want to wait seven more months for my anniversary cake. Also, wine tastings. Let's do another of those. Yeah, this'll be a good list...