So my surgery is all over and I feel okay.
I didn’t get good painkillers though which makes me kind of disappointed. How will I draw my artistic masterpieces now?
I’ve always got this little fear that the anesthesiologist will judge things wrong and I’ll wake up in the middle of the surgery and there’ll be blood and gore everywhere and I’ll start screaming, “Oh my god, that’s my HEART!”.
But it was knee surgery, not open-heart surgery, and the anesthesiologist seemed to know what he was doing. One moment he was talking to me about the one time he was in the US in Phoenix, Arizona and an almost 7-foot-tall Sioux Indian on heroin was trying to take his backpack.
Next thing I know I’m waking up to a male nurse leaning over me and stroking my eyebrows. It was quite nice. He had a soft touch.
I never did find out what happened to that dude’s backpack and I’m very disappointed by this. I think it’s a terribly bad habit for an anesthesiologist to start telling really interesting stories just seconds before he knocks a person out.
Apparently when I woke up I kept asking the nurse if trees had feet and if he enjoyed playing the board game Risk.
He giggled when he told me this, after I was a bit more conscious, but he didn’t answer either of the questions. I didn’t care so much about the trees/feet one, but I don’t know a lot of people in Auckland and if he enjoys playing Risk then we should totally be friends.
I slept through 90% of the day and it was really nice because I could hear a rain storm outside. I kept hearing myself making little happy sounds as I pushed deeper into the pillows.
And then I drove. I had to. And it wasn’t far.
My drug-addled brain didn’t think to have my friend pick up the prescriptions this morning on the way home. And my knee started hurting. And there is a pharmacy just three minutes down the street. My street is long and straight, and then it’s one left turn, and I’m there. Easy.
I drove slow.
I’m way more mobile than I thought I’d be too, so walking about hasn’t been painful or anything.
I started chatting with the pharmacist about cost of medical procedures here vs. the States. And then when I told her I had knee surgery that morning she craned her neck to look around me and said, “How did you get here?”
“You drove?! You shouldn’t be driving!”
I started getting really worried that she was going to physically block me from leaving the pharmacy and then call the police or something.
So I said, “Oh, I mean, I came in a car. But I wasn’t the one driving.”
She looked visibly relieved.
And then, walking out, I realized I had parked directly in front of the sliding glass doors which were only a few feet from the register she was standing at.
She watched me get in the car, turn it on, put on my seat belt, and drive away.
Now I can longer return to that pharmacy.
You know what I just realized? I forgot to buy chocolate.
This recovery just took a horrible turn.
I texted Tom because I felt he needed to known about my chocolate dilemma way down there on the south island.
His response was, “There’s Cheerios.”
Sometimes I’m not even sure we’re the same species.
I do have a container of dark chocolate baking chips in the kitchen….
Peace out, y’all.