How do people write blogs every single day?
I guess they must have more will power and more interesting lives.
It’s kind of hard to have interesting writing fodder when I’ve barely left the house for the past four days.
It’s been over a week since Tom’s been gone and I’m a bit lonely but I haven’t resorted to making Tom-dolls out of hair and nail clippings yet so I think things are going pretty well.
Yesterday I went to the doctor for my post-surgery check-up. Seems a bit of a stretch to call it that though. It was somewhat disconcerting that the doctor didn’t remember who I was. Not like I expect him to be like, “Ah, Leah, my most favorite surgical patient ever!” but at least remembering that he’d put stitches in me would have been nice.
When the check-up was wrapping up I said, “I took the bandage off this morning. Is it okay if the stitches get wet or do I need some more of those plastic bags?”
*Side note. Ever tried showering with a giant plastic bag over your leg that is supposed to be water-tight but isn’t so you’re bent over trying to hold said bag tightly over your leg while attempting to shampoo your hair? No? Well I highly recommend it. Add in the slipperiness of a foot wrapped in wet plastic and it’s practically a party in the shower.
The doctor frowned at me and said, “Stitches? You have stitches? You shouldn’t have stitches.”
He looked confused as I pulled up my pant leg and showed him the black plastic stitches in my knee.
“Huh, you must have been a bleeder.”
Then he continued to tell me that I could just pull out the stitches myself….with sharp surgical scissors. Apparently I’m lacking in the preparedness department by not owning these.
I wince when I pluck my eyebrows. And this guy thinks I’m pulling stitches out of my knee? Is that why health care is free here? Because you do half the stuff yourself? And besides, healthcare ain’t free for me…I paid almost $3,000 for this surgery. Get to pulling out the stitches, dude, you work for me.
I know, I’m making mountains out of molehills. But no…nopety nope nope…no pulling stitches for me.
I’m flying down to the South Island on Thursday to see Tom. I’ve already told him he will be removing the stitches. He’s actually excited about it. We compliment each other so well sometimes.
On a different note…I had to write a letter to New Zealand Immigration today about my work visa application which is pending acceptance. That damned DWI from 2007 is rearing its ugly head again. I know y’all have heard this hundreds of times but don’t EVER get a DWI…it stays with you forever….FOR…EV….ER.
Also, it seems they’re doubting the validity of mine and Tom’s relationship. I read the official lawyer-ly articles stating different things they would like to see in order to believe our relationship is “genuine and stable”. One of these things is proof of shared day-to-day household responsibilities. This brings to mind a picture of Tom holding a broom in the kitchen while staring at the camera with a big smile and thumbs-up. Too bad I erased that gem of a photo….along with the photos of me folding his boxers and him scrubbing my poop scum out of the toilet.
In case you’re confused…I’m kidding…those pictures never existed.
Before I go I’ll leave you with one earth-shattering fact that I learned from Tom’s friend the other day….Did you know that otters, those cute furry things that mate for life and hold hands while sleeping, are necrophiliac rapists? Well they are. And now they’re ruined for me.
I’m moving on to red pandas. At least until I discover their deep dark secrets.