Saturday, October 24, 2015

*eyeroll*

Been home for a few days now. I had to take a minute, because you know? That was some BULLSHIT.

Disclaimer:  I AM grateful the decision was made to step back and do more research rather than steaming in there all "Damn the liver! Full speed ahead! As with last year I can't say enough about how awesome the nursing staff was.

That said.

What would have been really super would be if before the decision to cancel was made, I hadn't first gone through all the fun personal indignities detailed here, or the self injecting twice a day, or the month and a half of mentally steeling myself to undergo this entire fucking process, or if it hadn't followed with 8 days a prisoner of my INR tethered to a heparin drip, in a dreary hospital room.

If you're in the hospital with no pressing issues (i.e.: I still need the surgery but feel no worse than I did for the past year) (ie: not floating on a happy Dilaudid cloud with a massive chest wound to distract me) 8 days of restless boredom, punctuated with multiple daily blood draws, hateful bleating alarms on your overly sensitive heparin drip, in an uncomfortable bed made for someone 6 inches shorter than you, and people waking you up in the dead of night to check vitals who occasionally have the audacity to ask (seriously mind you) if you think you would mind getting out of bed to be weighed. Yes I would mind, yes I would fucking mind a lot. (I don't feel bad about being a dick about that because in my opinion that is a completely unreasonable request) - It does your head in a bit. It's similar to the treatment you get when being inducted to a cult - sleep deprivation, horrible food, unfamiliar environment. I'm not suggesting nefarious intent on the part of the hospital, I'm just saying after several days of this you find yourself feeling somewhat dazed, and emotionally fragile, with a splash of volatile. That thing where you're having an all out ugly cry for NO REAL REASON YOU CAN SEE (IN FRONT OF ANOTHER PERSON) and your inner voice is screaming at you to shut the fuck up and stop acting like such a fucking baby but you can't because YOU DON'T KNOW WHY LEAVE ME ALONE STOP FUCKING TOUCHING ME. Still moving past all that  At least today when I woke up I knew what day it was without having to check, so - progress!

So for now the surgery *is* happening but I can't currently say *when*, so that's not annoying at all. Currently I'm electing not to think about it because I have no reason to. Because I have zero control over it right now, and if I keep thinking about how much that pisses me off I will go to bed and not come out until next year.

Yep.