Less Organs Means I Should Weigh Less, And Other Postsurgical Disappointments

Here are some of my recent thoughts on health care. This is entirely not political because:
1. Everyone knows I'm clueless about politics. I know we have a black president, and that's pretty much it.
2. Anything political I do post would have to be checked, double checked, triple checked, run by a focus group, and then checked again. Who the hell has time for that? I'm writing a blog here, people, not the next Constitution.

So you all remember how I got turned into healthcare-grade sushi a couple of weeks ago, right? I have holes scabbed over all over my abdomen from the port sites that kind of look like I survived a machine gun blast. It's really hard to resist picking at them, though, and all of my childhood memories of picking at scabs are flooding back, which is kind of strange because of all the memories to be evoked after getting shishkabobbed, why scab picking? Each time I feel I can't resist one second longer, though, I remember that on the other side of each scab is the inner me, which is probably soulless and scary and very, very gutsy. Needing my guts for another day, I resist, but I don't doubt soon you'll hear about me dragging my guts around on the outside like stomach tentacles.

Very frustrating was the fact that I envisioned all this time to rest and recline on the couch, probably eating very large candy bars and watching countless SyFy movies one after another, but the reality was sitting up on the couch in a half slouched position because my pain pills ran out about 10 minutes after I left the hospital and lying down meant eventually having to get back up, and that required abdominal muscles which I definitely did not get use of after surgery. I also forgot how much I hate daytime TV, but having my sister take care of me meant that in return she got to torture me with it. I don't care for this Dr. Oz person. First, his name is really, really stupid. I mean REALLY stupid. How do you even pronounce Mehmet anyway? Do his friends call him Meh? Like my teenager always answers me when he's got that teenage boredom syndrome? I had to watch Dr. Oz molesting Steven Tyler of Aerosmith on his show and it was really creepy, even creepier than Steven Tyler's daughter, Liv, always referring to her dad as "so beautiful." Ozzie couldn't keep his hands off him and I swear to God made him pucker his lips and said that's what his asshole looked like. That's the honest truth. It really happened that way.  

Speaking of my sister, she tried her damnedest to clean us up around here when she arrived, making gluten-free cookies and homemade popsicles. I have to admit she's good, but not good enough against all five of us. She lasted about one week before she toppled. While my mom was texting her asking if her kids could have junk food (the answer was no), she'd already caved and was eating my very large candy bars with me and going on soda runs every day for us both. I think somehow my mom knew about the deception because SHE was secretly feeding my sister's kids ice cream for breakfast, proof that everyone suffers when one person can't stay the moral high ground. Basically, the poor health and wellness of me, my husband, my kids, my mom, and my niece and nephew are all because my sister couldn't resist all the junk food in my house. Some people are so selfish.

Now that Jay has had HIS surgery, it's all about him and nothing about me, which is a bunch of bullshit. I had this planned for MONTHS. He just happened to rip his Achilles weeks ago. How he turned it around and made it all about him so quickly I still don't quite get, but it's totally unfair. Plus, he can just put that big ol' casted Sasquatch foot out on the front porch for the whole world to gawk at. I had to hide my pee bag in a tote whenever I had to leave the house to drive a child somewhere. I also gave my youngest four dollars in quarters (probably the same four dollars in quarters he originally gave me) so that he could get himself a soda on the way home one day because I only use a debit card and never carry cash, and there was no way I was going in the store with my tote bag full of pee. I'm sure the convenience store people were just DYING to arrest me for my shady behavior as I hovered over it, constantly rearranging it, looking all the while like a middle-aged suburban shoplifting mom with my 12-year-old as an obvious street thug distraction. The only fun part was using a tote bag I got from my old company, so hopefully  people would think that somehow they caused my bladder injury. That's probably pretty petty, but what the hell.

I'm not one of those really cruel pet owners who's planning to bury her pets with her when she dies, but in hindsight, if my doctor ever again decides to cut up extra organs and leave me with a nonfunctioning bladder, I'm gonna have to insist he also catheterize my dogs. If I'm not allowed to pee, neither are they. I probably will pass on the same for the kids, but if they really piss me off, I might do the same for them. At least the ones under 18 who I still have legal say over.

I'm still waiting for someone on Jay's side of the family to offer to fly out and take care of HIM like my family did, but interestingly all's quiet from that front. Either they expect I'm more than competent (I'm not) or they want nowhere near him during these very trying times (me neither). My uncle told me he pictures our situation much like the movie Misery, and I don't disbelieve that. Quite frankly, I've been admiring some of Jay's larger tools out in the garage lately and wonder exactly how much I could get away with in his current gimpy state. Unfortunately, he's not terminal right now so whatever I dole out he'd probably return and much worse, so for now I'll keep up the peppy nurse bit, but I'm secretly keeping all options open.