Friday, August 8, 2014

Operation TCoC

Yes, it’s finally that day, when I can shake off the shackles that have kept me chained down to this ramshackle hard-scraping life and finally find freedom, yes freedom my friends!

Or in other words, it’s time to Take Care of Clumpie.

This means I go under the knife today, which in most cases is a quick and painless procedure (because they’re putting me under), but, umm… this case….nay! I’m sure it’ll be a, umm, extremely agonizing surgery fraught with such pain that it’ll have me questioning my own existence. Yeah, that’s it.

(Normal Brother once taught me that I should always play up such things, so as to garner as much sympathy as possible. So there you go. I think there’ll be flames licking at my feet too, just because.)

I know that my doctor is looking forward to seeing me, as we had our usual scintillating and wonderful chat this week as pre-surgery prep.

Dr. Abe: So first we’ll give you a drug that’ll…
Me: No.
Dr. Abe: But I haven’t even explained…
Me: The forgetting drug. No. I hate that stuff. No.
Dr. Abe: But Versed is great for calming people down and putting them int…
Me: No.
Dr. Abe: Most people like th…
Me: Nope.
Dr. Abe: Bu…
Me: No.

I could tell that Dr. Abe was impressed by my bold forward-thinking ways, and I think that’s what she then proceeded to write in her notes.

Actually I’m pretty sure her notes were more along the lines of “Patient is crazycakes. Try to load her up to the gills with anesthesia as soon as possible.”

Anyway, that was that. I had to go through more of the pre-surgery stuff this week as well, including a blood draw (as usual, fail on the first try so they sent me off to the experts at the lab), and a ton of the same questions being asked over and over. At this point I’ve had so many surgeries I want to tell them look, just get on with it already. I mean, isn't there a drive-through or something?

My big dilemma now: traditionally I bring brownies to my nurses on the day of surgery, as my way of bribing them to make sure (or at last try) that no one lights up in the operating room and, say, sends me up in flames. It’s worked so far – but I didn’t have time to make brownies today. My next option: boozy amaretto apricot vanilla jam. That would work, right?

* * * * * * *

On a completely different note, a close friend recently had a medical thing going on herself, so I sent her some flowers. And of course included a note with them, writing into the little box online something along the lines of:

“Good luck with the biopsy! I’m sure it’s just a douchebag Clumpie trying to make your life miserable. Shithead.   love, Miss Tasha and The Kone.”

The next day when she got the flowers, I just had to ask. The note, was it….?

M: “Yes, it was carefully written out in little old lady handwriting.”

My work here is done.