I have to be talked into wearing clothes home. Between the cold comfort of the ice pack against the injection sites at the base of my spine, the loosely fitting, hind view offering, billowy sexiness of my johnny, and the box cut mesh one size fits a walrus state offered panties, I am loath to move and feel that sweeping nausea that accompanies anesthesia rise up to greet me.
I am assured that green is a good color on frogs, trees, and grasshoppers, less so on me.
I am also encouraged to leave since apparently I get “chatty” under the influence and it’s just possible I’ve said things that are making it difficult for the staff to make eye contact with me. Things along the lines of ancient curses on the asses of those present while I screamed from the lightening bolt strikes of nerves meeting needles. The authorities may also have been alerted to a possible “situation with an unruly patient”.
I tried asking around to see who was causing all the trouble so I could see for myself and maybe get a good blog out of it but an orderly leaned close, cleared his throat and quietly explained that I was the patient in question and that he was the one who lost the staff pool and had to wrestle me into clothes and wheel me out one way or the other.
So here I am. I’ve been shot four times (injections to be honest), and dressed by a stranger who has asked me to leave his name out of anything I write because apparently he has “standards”.
I’ll be deposited into my own soft bed and packed in ice for a few days, sleeping and hugging a bucket. But by the weekend you can be damn sure I’ll be ready to be set loose on the world. It’s been a spine tingling experience. For everyone within ear shot.