September 21, 2011
Dear Right Arm, I really really need you around to help me drink beer cuz Jason O’Mara hasn’t bought me my damn beer can helmet yet, so if you get cut off I’m totally screwed.
So I’m having shoulder surgery tomorrow. Finally. If it seems like I’ve been talking about it for forever, it’s totally because I have. I have dragged this thing out for months and months.
I just typed moths and moths instead of months and months. And I actually took the time to change it for you guys. I know you people know me and you do a really kick-ass job following along with every weird thing I say or strange tangent I go on. Or at least you pretend you do. Out of fear. But I’m thinking if I said I’ve dragged this out for moths and moths you guys might be a tad confused. Or maybe not. I don’t know anymore. Cuz you guys are weird. But maybe you’d know I meant months. Or maybe you’d think I actually did drag my arm out for moths. Ya know, to show the moths I have an arm. Like, “Na-na-ne-boo-boo, I have an arm and you don’t! And I know you fly and flying is awesome, but flying into light fixtures to die is totally stupid.” And maybe I don’t fly, but at least I don’t do that. I do, however, get easily distracted by light. Or anything shiny for that matter. And if I did have wings I might actually –if I’d been drinking– fly into one. I mean, sometimes when I’m at my desk writing a blog, I see a flash of light or a shiny thing and I wander off to find out what it is. Then see the pantry and stop for a snack. Then see The Cat and do an awesome dance for her. Then see the backyard rabbit and try to feed it a carrot. Then wander to the neighbor’s house just to see what’s up.
So actually, I might really be kinda like a moth. So nevermind.
Anyways, as you all know I am dreading this surgery because (a) surgery sucks, and (b) surgery never ever EVER goes well for me. And like I said before, my doctor just had a baby last week and is most-likey severely sleep deprived and totally ready to malpractice the shit outta me. Or he might possibly be very well-rested cuz sometimes newborn babies are kinda comatose. And sometimes new baby daddy’s let the new mommy’s do all the work and their sleep patterns don’t change at all. Who’s to know? I’m just trying to be prepared for the worst. That’s how I roll.
So today I’ve been trying to do all the things I won’t be able to do with one nearly useless left arm, like laundry, dusting, vacuuming, note writing, organizing The Boy for school, grocery shopping, flipping people off, beating up hobos, and writing a blog.
And normally throwing back a few beers would be near the top of that list. But I haven’t been allowed to drink for the past week because of the stupid surgery. Which is ridiculous. And I think that rule may be something that my doctor made up just to try to re-hab me. Like he’s Dr. Drew or something. Which he’s not. Dr. Drew is a silver fox, and I would totally fake a crack addiction and prostitution problem just to let him try to re-hab my sweet ass. But my doctor is not a silver fox. He’s a guy who I am pretty damn sure is younger than me. And his nickname in med school was Mattie-Burger. Which he doesn’t know that I know. But I have connections. And I know. So before my surgery tomorrow I plan to write in Sharpie on my arm: “You F@ck up you DIE, Mattie-Burger!” Just in case.
And by the way…for those of you who aren’t on my FB page, I’ll have you know that I got (almost) brutally face raped by a flying squirrel last week. So after tomorrow I won’t be able to protect myself like this:
So I really doubt I can go on any walks with Cathy for awhile. At least until she takes some kind’ve Squirrel Rape Prevention courses so she will be ready to save me. I heard they offer those at the local Y. So I’m really hoping she gets on it. Pronto.
And since I’m pretty damn positive that I’m gonna get my arm chopped off tomorrow, I’d like to share a collage of some recent good times me and my arm have had together. While you look at the photos, sing The Golden Girls theme out loud:
And I want you all to know that I even if (when) my arm gets amputated, I will continue to blog and Facebook. I’ll just do it with even more misspellings than usual. If that’s possible. Cuz I’ll be typing with my toes. Like that chick in that Joni movie did in the 70’s. Except she was paralyzed from a diving accident. And she used her mouth. Not her feet. Which I won’t do because (a) I’m usually either talking or have food in my mouth, and (b) My toes are almost as long as regular peoples fingers so it would totally be a waste to not use them.
But that’s how much I love you people. Or maybe it’s how much of an attention whore I am. It’s definitely one of those.
And Facebookers: I will be updating you Wednesday morning as to any important goings on at the hospital. And hopefully you will hear from me after surgery. If I have a right hand and The Hub doesn’t pay the anesthesiologist to kill me.
And finally, one last thing: Aside from a really obnoxiously large “sling” that looks like some rejected Robocop body part, I have to carry around a big ass igloo cooler that has tubes attached that go to a cuff that goes around my shoulder to keep it cool. And it was ugly. And it made me feel like I was selling lemonade on the corner (which actually sounds kinda fun if I’m gonna be totally honest here). And since The Hub won’t hire my friend Jana who is a real nurse to be my freakin’ nurse, I turned the cooler into a nurse. A male nurse. From the 70’s. Who’s gay. So I won’t be embarrassed getting sponge bathed by him and stuff. And his name is Nurse Jeffrey Jefferson:
And he has a sweet-ass mustache. But he doesn’t wear pants. Which is fine with me since I probably won’t be wearing pants either.
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