Ooh Doggie! Last week was my spring break....and it sucked. The moment that will most likely be remembered by my family and I forever was me going to the ER Friday for some post-appendix pain. I went thinking I could get it over with in 3 hours but instead it took almost 8. The ER... no problem (it's for my health), the problem was that all of this took place during my cousin's wedding (I was supposed to sing) and I left the place none the wiser to my condition. Many of the other events that added to my stress have been counter-balanced as proceeds. I got to see my cousin in her wedding dress at the reception as well as most of my mom's side of the fam. The Jeep was leaking anti-freeze:the radiator was not the issue (cheap fix). I racked up more medical bills:tax return. The weekend felt like no such thing: Monday brought me back to school, where I am learning to really enjoy/cherish what I do every day. Last week raised my blood-pressure, knocked down my immune system and caused some tears, I realize it could have been a lot worse.
For your viewing (but mostly listening & blunting) pleasure:
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Easter Sunday brings back memories of hollow chocolate bunnies and church services where women and girls wore pastel colored dresses. It also brings back images of food. We would eat honey-baked hams and corn casseroles and potatoes with chedder cheese and chives. My mom had a bunny mold and would craft a bunny cake which she iced with cream cheese frosting and sprinkled with cocunut. My grandmother, with her beautiful blue eyes and soft body, would bring over lemon meringue pies hidden in opaque plastic containers. We would all admire the egg white peaks when she decided to lift off the cover.
My sisters and I would sit in the grass of our front lawn, looking through our easter baskets and cracking open those brightly colored plastic eggs. Susanne, older and beautiful, would make us laugh. We found the greatest present in sitting next to her, in playing with her, in running around like the children that we were. I knew Easter was supposed to be about Jesus, but I felt like it was about my family--all of us sitting together and eating and laughing and enjoying the cool days that would soon evolve into humid stickiness.
Today I am sitting in my kitchen. My younger sister is in Texas, and I have made carrot cake, blueberry muffins and a brocolli and chedder quiche. Susanne loves croissants and I am about to put a dozen into the oven. Now we have Hallie and Ben, and in a few hours I get to sit with them as we go through their easter baskets, cracking open eggs and unwrapping chocolates. Ryan and I are not going to church; I don't get to see the women and the girls dressed in pastel colored dresses. Instead I get to sit next to Ryan in a couch in my parent's living room. We get to look out at the snow covered hills that cloak the horizon in the West. The warmth of a hot oven and the smell of buttery breads will expel the harshness that the snow could have brought. The sun will be bright. I know now that Easter is not about Jesus, at least not to me, but it is about my family and food and being with the people and ther person that I love.
My sisters and I would sit in the grass of our front lawn, looking through our easter baskets and cracking open those brightly colored plastic eggs. Susanne, older and beautiful, would make us laugh. We found the greatest present in sitting next to her, in playing with her, in running around like the children that we were. I knew Easter was supposed to be about Jesus, but I felt like it was about my family--all of us sitting together and eating and laughing and enjoying the cool days that would soon evolve into humid stickiness.
Today I am sitting in my kitchen. My younger sister is in Texas, and I have made carrot cake, blueberry muffins and a brocolli and chedder quiche. Susanne loves croissants and I am about to put a dozen into the oven. Now we have Hallie and Ben, and in a few hours I get to sit with them as we go through their easter baskets, cracking open eggs and unwrapping chocolates. Ryan and I are not going to church; I don't get to see the women and the girls dressed in pastel colored dresses. Instead I get to sit next to Ryan in a couch in my parent's living room. We get to look out at the snow covered hills that cloak the horizon in the West. The warmth of a hot oven and the smell of buttery breads will expel the harshness that the snow could have brought. The sun will be bright. I know now that Easter is not about Jesus, at least not to me, but it is about my family and food and being with the people and ther person that I love.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Women Writing War
As we all know, the anniversary of the war in Iraq was this Wednesday. Yesterday, I attended a conference women war. My professor, an inspiring feminist, brought in four woman, all writers, whose works are linked directly to war. The panel included a leading Virginia Woolf scholar, a Nigerian novelist, an Iraqi poet and a Sargent who contributed to the anthology, Operation Homecoming.
Each woman shared. The Virginia Woolf scholar, Jane Marcus, was the oldest and had been in the foreground of second wave feminism. She briefly discussed Woolf's, Three Guineas, a powerful essay that is largely ignored in both Britain and America. Few people realize the strong pacifist position that Virginia Woolf maintained even amidst the rise of Fascism. She argued that peace can only be obtained when education changes. We live in societies where war is ingrained into the flexible minds of children. I agree with Woolf. I look at the video games, the movies, the discipline of our schools and I see the military and war playing a very prominent role.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie recently wrote the critically acclaimed novel, Half of Yellow Sun. Adichie was articulate and graceful. Her words were like nectar, which may seem like an exaggerated simile, but I really don't know how to else to describe her voice and her presence. She wrote about the civil war in Nigeria in the 1960's. It was one of the first wars to be seen on TV, and it also began the tradition of showing starving African children on the evening news. Adichie argues that Africa is too often seen in the light of catastrophe; those images that we can readily call to mind are limited and depressing. She sought to humanize the war through her novel; she sought to show her readers that Africans still laugh, still eat, still have sex.
The Iraqi poet, Dunya Mikhail, was soft spoken and read a few of her poems. She began each poem in Arabic and then transitioned into the English translation. Her poems were raw and moving and reflective. As we, a room full of Americans, sat and listened to her tell of the beauty and the pain of her country, I felt guilty for not saying more and not doing more to end the war in Iraq.
And lastly we listened to Sergeant Sharon D. Allen. A brave woman to come into a liberal enclave and sit beside a feminist pacifist and a woman from Iraq. She related her experience, a positive one, and I tried to listen respectfully. But as she continued to talk about protecting her country, I couldn't help but stare at Dunya Mikhail. Mikhail alone understands the pain and fear associated with being invaded. She alone has had to sit in an apartment, wondering if her home will be bombed. She has had to deal with her own government, with Iran, and now with the US. And I couldn't help but feel embarrassed and ashamed for our country and our military. I admire the men and women who are willing to serve. At least I try to say that I do. But in reality my mind is so much more aligned with the principles of pacifism that it is difficult for me to support what our nation is doing. Does that mean that I don't support our military? Does that mean that I don't admire the men and women who serve? Maybe it does. I hope it doesn't but I am struggling. And I know that is not a popular sentiment. But that's where I am right now.
Each woman shared. The Virginia Woolf scholar, Jane Marcus, was the oldest and had been in the foreground of second wave feminism. She briefly discussed Woolf's, Three Guineas, a powerful essay that is largely ignored in both Britain and America. Few people realize the strong pacifist position that Virginia Woolf maintained even amidst the rise of Fascism. She argued that peace can only be obtained when education changes. We live in societies where war is ingrained into the flexible minds of children. I agree with Woolf. I look at the video games, the movies, the discipline of our schools and I see the military and war playing a very prominent role.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie recently wrote the critically acclaimed novel, Half of Yellow Sun. Adichie was articulate and graceful. Her words were like nectar, which may seem like an exaggerated simile, but I really don't know how to else to describe her voice and her presence. She wrote about the civil war in Nigeria in the 1960's. It was one of the first wars to be seen on TV, and it also began the tradition of showing starving African children on the evening news. Adichie argues that Africa is too often seen in the light of catastrophe; those images that we can readily call to mind are limited and depressing. She sought to humanize the war through her novel; she sought to show her readers that Africans still laugh, still eat, still have sex.
The Iraqi poet, Dunya Mikhail, was soft spoken and read a few of her poems. She began each poem in Arabic and then transitioned into the English translation. Her poems were raw and moving and reflective. As we, a room full of Americans, sat and listened to her tell of the beauty and the pain of her country, I felt guilty for not saying more and not doing more to end the war in Iraq.
And lastly we listened to Sergeant Sharon D. Allen. A brave woman to come into a liberal enclave and sit beside a feminist pacifist and a woman from Iraq. She related her experience, a positive one, and I tried to listen respectfully. But as she continued to talk about protecting her country, I couldn't help but stare at Dunya Mikhail. Mikhail alone understands the pain and fear associated with being invaded. She alone has had to sit in an apartment, wondering if her home will be bombed. She has had to deal with her own government, with Iran, and now with the US. And I couldn't help but feel embarrassed and ashamed for our country and our military. I admire the men and women who are willing to serve. At least I try to say that I do. But in reality my mind is so much more aligned with the principles of pacifism that it is difficult for me to support what our nation is doing. Does that mean that I don't support our military? Does that mean that I don't admire the men and women who serve? Maybe it does. I hope it doesn't but I am struggling. And I know that is not a popular sentiment. But that's where I am right now.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
I don't like to think of myself as afraid, but last night when I was trying to fall asleep I felt like fear was paralyzing me. Ryan and I are applying to the Peace Corps this month. By the end of the summer we should know if and where we are going. The possibilities are exciting and frightening; we could be living in a hut without running water and electricity or in an apartment very similar to our own; we could be learning an African dialect or working on Russian with a room full of other volunteers. The uncertainty thrills a small part of me, but the larger part, the more developed, dominant part, is hating the unknown.
I have always liked having a plan. Too a fault, I have planned out my life over and over again. Part of the reason I have been able to do so well at school is due to my obsessive habit of thinking ahead. When I was a freshman in college, I was already thinking about grad school. The past two years have involved meticulous planning; I have taken the right classes, worked with the right people, and developed the needed skills to be a very competitive candidate for doctoral work. Ryan and my friends can attest to the level of work I have put into this endeavor. It is not an understatement to say that I haven't had much of a life outside of school.
And then I realized the other week, that this (all of this planning and work and sucking up to teachers) is not what I want to do anymore. I realized that more than anything I want marry Ryan and LIVE.
So I have scrapped grad school for now. I have put away my GRE books, my anthologies of American and British literature, and I have even allowed myself to turn in an essay that is less than perfect. And it feels good.
Ever since I was in high school, I wanted to join the Peace Corps. I wanted to get married and leave. I wanted to find someone who could love me and who could love others. And I found him. And we are going to go. And we are going to LIVE in Botswana or Jordan or Cambodia, anywhere in the world. And I am not going to be able to plan for that. It is scary, I am afraid, and I couldn't sleep until 2 AM last night. But I also am feeling more alive than I have for a very long time, and I think this fear means something good is happening inside of me.
I have always liked having a plan. Too a fault, I have planned out my life over and over again. Part of the reason I have been able to do so well at school is due to my obsessive habit of thinking ahead. When I was a freshman in college, I was already thinking about grad school. The past two years have involved meticulous planning; I have taken the right classes, worked with the right people, and developed the needed skills to be a very competitive candidate for doctoral work. Ryan and my friends can attest to the level of work I have put into this endeavor. It is not an understatement to say that I haven't had much of a life outside of school.
And then I realized the other week, that this (all of this planning and work and sucking up to teachers) is not what I want to do anymore. I realized that more than anything I want marry Ryan and LIVE.
So I have scrapped grad school for now. I have put away my GRE books, my anthologies of American and British literature, and I have even allowed myself to turn in an essay that is less than perfect. And it feels good.
Ever since I was in high school, I wanted to join the Peace Corps. I wanted to get married and leave. I wanted to find someone who could love me and who could love others. And I found him. And we are going to go. And we are going to LIVE in Botswana or Jordan or Cambodia, anywhere in the world. And I am not going to be able to plan for that. It is scary, I am afraid, and I couldn't sleep until 2 AM last night. But I also am feeling more alive than I have for a very long time, and I think this fear means something good is happening inside of me.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
speaking a new language with my wife
Getting my thoughts in a tangible form seems to follow a sinusoidal curve. Once the graph dips below zero on the y-axis you won't hear from me for just long enough to bottom out and then on the way up I start to process things well enough to start to think about writing them down again. As soon as it crosses that x-axis...that is when you hear from me. But enough of that tangent (get it?).
Much has taken place and even more is lined up for the next year and some change.
I am probably going to stay at my current job for another year. The only thing that reminds me of my lowly status in public schools is my paycheck and that isn't the most important thing. Everyone else has to jump through the same hoops and deal with the same bureaucracy and they have done so for a while longer then I have. I need to stop bitching, there is no such thing as entitlement. I still need to address some issues I have with the way I react to certain situations and I am frankly tired of jumping from employer to employer (my goal is to keep filing taxes next year down to just 3 employers). I need to find a job for the summer. I feel like I am still in school and really I guess I am.
I am definitely going to be getting married to the love of my life next year. I have a tendency of dumbing down my emotions and turning any serious conversation into a stand-up routine and I am beginning to realize that it can have an adverse affect on those around me so I will do my best here to convey my feelings of the decision we have made. This is something that I am looking forward to more than anything else going on in my life. Not so much the event as everything else it entails (I am making my commitment to Monet and I am making it public and permanent). I truly love this young woman and she is the most important person in my life. I want to experience life in all of its highs and lows WITH HER.
We will hopefully be joining the Peace Corps soon after that. I am in the middle of my application and Monet is almost done with hers. I can not even process the thoughts that this decision is placing in my head. I suppose you can expect a more detailed reaction to this as the situation unfolds and I can express myself lucidly.
It will also be interesting to hear Mo's thoughts on all of these things as this is a shared life and a shared blog. So keep an eye out for that.
Much has taken place and even more is lined up for the next year and some change.
I am probably going to stay at my current job for another year. The only thing that reminds me of my lowly status in public schools is my paycheck and that isn't the most important thing. Everyone else has to jump through the same hoops and deal with the same bureaucracy and they have done so for a while longer then I have. I need to stop bitching, there is no such thing as entitlement. I still need to address some issues I have with the way I react to certain situations and I am frankly tired of jumping from employer to employer (my goal is to keep filing taxes next year down to just 3 employers). I need to find a job for the summer. I feel like I am still in school and really I guess I am.
I am definitely going to be getting married to the love of my life next year. I have a tendency of dumbing down my emotions and turning any serious conversation into a stand-up routine and I am beginning to realize that it can have an adverse affect on those around me so I will do my best here to convey my feelings of the decision we have made. This is something that I am looking forward to more than anything else going on in my life. Not so much the event as everything else it entails (I am making my commitment to Monet and I am making it public and permanent). I truly love this young woman and she is the most important person in my life. I want to experience life in all of its highs and lows WITH HER.
We will hopefully be joining the Peace Corps soon after that. I am in the middle of my application and Monet is almost done with hers. I can not even process the thoughts that this decision is placing in my head. I suppose you can expect a more detailed reaction to this as the situation unfolds and I can express myself lucidly.
It will also be interesting to hear Mo's thoughts on all of these things as this is a shared life and a shared blog. So keep an eye out for that.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Chili and Fingernails
So I cut off a fourth of my fingernail yesterday--and the newly exposed skin bled far more than I enjoyed. My sister gave me a great set of knives for Christmas; knives that make chopping apples, onions, carrots, and fingers incredibly easy. I was slicing a yellow bell pepper for a pot of black bean chili when suddenly my thumb met my knife which amazingly managed to just slice off my fingernail (my actual skin remained unscathed). But there was a lot of blood, which is always unappetizing when you are trying to cook a pot of food, but I managed to clean off my finger, apply two-three band aids, and finish chopping my vegetables within ten minutes. I found this amazing recipe for black bean chili over the weekend. Cutting off my fingernail was unpleasant, but well worth the pain. This chili is good. And so after making one pot on Sunday, I made another pot yesterday, and I am tempted to make another pot over the upcoming weekend--yes I do tend to get obsessive when I find something I like. But I thought I'd share the recipe, and hopefully you can enjoy it as much as I do (especially if you manage to keep your fingers knife free)
1 Bell Pepper
1 Onion
Olive Oil
1-2 Cans of Black Beans
1/2 Can of Diced Tomatoes
1/2 Can of Tomato Sauce (8 oz)
Cumin
Chile Powder
Vegetable Broth
Chop the bell pepper and onion. Saute for about 5 minutes in 1 TBS of Olive Oil. Add 1 Cup of Vegetable Broth, 1-2 Cans of Black Beans, 1/2 Can of Tomatoes, 1/2 Can of Tomato Sauce. Add desired amounts of Cumin and Chile Powder (make it as spicy as you like!) Bring to a boil and then cover and simmer for 20 minutes. Canned Corn can also be added for extra color and deliciousness. Serve with cheese, sour cream, cornbread. I hope you enjoy!
1 Bell Pepper
1 Onion
Olive Oil
1-2 Cans of Black Beans
1/2 Can of Diced Tomatoes
1/2 Can of Tomato Sauce (8 oz)
Cumin
Chile Powder
Vegetable Broth
Chop the bell pepper and onion. Saute for about 5 minutes in 1 TBS of Olive Oil. Add 1 Cup of Vegetable Broth, 1-2 Cans of Black Beans, 1/2 Can of Tomatoes, 1/2 Can of Tomato Sauce. Add desired amounts of Cumin and Chile Powder (make it as spicy as you like!) Bring to a boil and then cover and simmer for 20 minutes. Canned Corn can also be added for extra color and deliciousness. Serve with cheese, sour cream, cornbread. I hope you enjoy!
Monday, March 10, 2008
top of this blog
I am teaching myself Illustrator and Photoshop. As this situation progresses, I will be messing with the banner.
Friday, March 7, 2008
i, the convalescent
In my week away from any sort of responsibility aside from healing I had to fill a lot of downtime. I would like to share with everyone what I did with all of this extra time and recommend a few items in case you ever lose your appendix. If you already do not have one, I am sorry I could not be there for you sooner.
I have listened to more NPR pod-casts than I know how to handle. (see itunes store for free subscriptions to various pod-casts)
Books:
The History of Love - Nicole Krauss' book entered into my top 5 list this week and I don't see it ever losing that distinction. It has similarities in content and style with Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, but something makes this one stand out.
Autobiography of Red - I am a third through this "novel in verse" recreation of a present day Geryon and Herakles. Anne Carson can put together words like few others. Honestly, I have trouble sitting through more than a few poems at a time, but this keeps me intrigued and I have even re-read a few of the short "chapters" already.
Music:
Laura Marling - Very young, very talented gal from England.
Jaymay - Fairly young, very talented gal from New York.
Movies and TV:
Taxi - This show is a classic, put it on hold at the library.
The Wire - It took us three months just to find the first three episodes at blockbuster and the hold line at the library is about 100 people long. Try and borrow this from a friend if you can.
Flight of the Conchords -
The Darjeeling Limited - Any Wes Anderson film is worth owning. I want to buy a big flat screen tv just for his movies. I feel like I miss out on a lot of the details on an 18".
I have listened to more NPR pod-casts than I know how to handle. (see itunes store for free subscriptions to various pod-casts)
Books:
The History of Love - Nicole Krauss' book entered into my top 5 list this week and I don't see it ever losing that distinction. It has similarities in content and style with Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, but something makes this one stand out.
Autobiography of Red - I am a third through this "novel in verse" recreation of a present day Geryon and Herakles. Anne Carson can put together words like few others. Honestly, I have trouble sitting through more than a few poems at a time, but this keeps me intrigued and I have even re-read a few of the short "chapters" already.
Music:
Laura Marling - Very young, very talented gal from England.
Jaymay - Fairly young, very talented gal from New York.
Movies and TV:
Taxi - This show is a classic, put it on hold at the library.
The Wire - It took us three months just to find the first three episodes at blockbuster and the hold line at the library is about 100 people long. Try and borrow this from a friend if you can.
Flight of the Conchords -
The Darjeeling Limited - Any Wes Anderson film is worth owning. I want to buy a big flat screen tv just for his movies. I feel like I miss out on a lot of the details on an 18".
Saturday, March 1, 2008
appendectomy. oh my!
While you found me last grousing about my troubles in the career oriented world I was actually in physical pain. I had stomach bacteria in my stomach this summer that I thought I had taken care of and it seemed it had made an untimely return. I stayed away from the stress-filled world of public school on Thursday and around noon was coerced in to appointing with a doctor by a lovely young lady who loves me. I didn't get to see my doctor but was introduced to a nurse practitioner that at once saved my life and almost killed me in a matter of 18 hours.
She thought it may be my appendix but must not have thought to seriously about this as she scheduled my ct scan for the following morning as opposed to right away. Over night I could have up and died (appendix bursting and leaking toxins into my lower bowels and slowly poisoning me). I show up early as they tell me to get there no later than 15 minutes early. I ended up waiting an additional half an hour just to be told I needed to be drinking a strange mixture of lemonade and iodine which we will call lemomidone. After drinking the first cup I was instructed to wait another 20 minutes and drink another and also to let that one find its way to my intestines before I could head back. Finally, I'm in the ct scan room and am injected with a "contrast" which makes me feel like I wet myself and turned my heart into a space heater. I ask if anyone has ever wet themselves after being injected with this and she says it just feels that way but only females ever express this feeling.
Sitting in another waiting room I answer the phone. The nurse practitioner from the day prior, "GUESS WHAT! YOU HAVE APPENDICITIS!" I let her know she probably shouldn't tell people this sort of thing in such a told you so way and she says that I am a little high strung for a boy my age. I get it! I'm a high strung, feminine, appendicitis patient. She gives me horrible directions to St. Joseph Hospital and I end up walking into the St. Elsewhere hospital asking for directions again. I end up in the ER at St. Joe's and they have no idea what I'm talking about. "You were supposed to be expecting me?" Nope. Okay, well then, my appendix could be exploding at any moment or it might have already exploded...get me to surgery, damn it! "We are going to have to give you a ct scan." Are you people stupid or am I going to die? or both? After meeting all of my nurses and doctors in the ER, they have cleared up the misunderstanding and I am rushed to Pre-Op. Not so much rushed but I do end up there eventually. "I'm not going to get charged for the whole ER thing, right? I mean it was your guys fault." "Oh, you shouldn't." But if you do all you have to do is get a waiver signed by the lady at the front desk and have her get it notarized by her aunt's hairdresser after he gets out of the bathroom...or you could just pay it. It's not like you have insurance with us or anything like that.
Pre-Op: paperwork. you can't make long distance phone calls and your cell phone doesn't get service. the only people who you want at the hospital have Colorado Springs' area codes. we're supposed to talk to you about living wills...but we won't actually...we'll just tell you we have to tell you this. can you take your underwear off? we have to shave you? wait, that wasn't a question.
Monet! Someone I love! Get me out of this bureaucratic wasteland of a hospital before they bill me for crying on the sheets.
Anesthesia: we make bad jokes that are supposed to make you feel comfortable and we don't really tell you what's going to happen.................convulsions, I am f-ing cold!!! I can't breathe. Who the hell are you? Recovery Room?: a nurse from Chicago who doesn't really like Denver because she is single and 40 and doesn't really like me because I yell at her for not letting me se my girlfriend or mom, who have both been waiting for three hours because this hospital doesn't have enough rooms for the amount of people that are ill. Why do these people get to talk to people they know and you keep leaving me to join the conversation. I am pumped full of morphine and whatever gas they used to knock me out and I am going to cry and curse because my blood pressure is 190 over 100...what the hell?
They didn't ask if I even wanted to keep my appendix. I didn't but I could have given it as a gift (ex-girlfreind or first-born, either/or).
Seeing my loved ones after this long has made me realize that I'm glad I lived through all of this and won't mind halving my savings account the following week, or whenever I get the bill. Seeing Monet makes me want to elope. Seeing my mom makes me want to cry again. I am a bad patient... I cry and curse a lot.
She thought it may be my appendix but must not have thought to seriously about this as she scheduled my ct scan for the following morning as opposed to right away. Over night I could have up and died (appendix bursting and leaking toxins into my lower bowels and slowly poisoning me). I show up early as they tell me to get there no later than 15 minutes early. I ended up waiting an additional half an hour just to be told I needed to be drinking a strange mixture of lemonade and iodine which we will call lemomidone. After drinking the first cup I was instructed to wait another 20 minutes and drink another and also to let that one find its way to my intestines before I could head back. Finally, I'm in the ct scan room and am injected with a "contrast" which makes me feel like I wet myself and turned my heart into a space heater. I ask if anyone has ever wet themselves after being injected with this and she says it just feels that way but only females ever express this feeling.
Sitting in another waiting room I answer the phone. The nurse practitioner from the day prior, "GUESS WHAT! YOU HAVE APPENDICITIS!" I let her know she probably shouldn't tell people this sort of thing in such a told you so way and she says that I am a little high strung for a boy my age. I get it! I'm a high strung, feminine, appendicitis patient. She gives me horrible directions to St. Joseph Hospital and I end up walking into the St. Elsewhere hospital asking for directions again. I end up in the ER at St. Joe's and they have no idea what I'm talking about. "You were supposed to be expecting me?" Nope. Okay, well then, my appendix could be exploding at any moment or it might have already exploded...get me to surgery, damn it! "We are going to have to give you a ct scan." Are you people stupid or am I going to die? or both? After meeting all of my nurses and doctors in the ER, they have cleared up the misunderstanding and I am rushed to Pre-Op. Not so much rushed but I do end up there eventually. "I'm not going to get charged for the whole ER thing, right? I mean it was your guys fault." "Oh, you shouldn't." But if you do all you have to do is get a waiver signed by the lady at the front desk and have her get it notarized by her aunt's hairdresser after he gets out of the bathroom...or you could just pay it. It's not like you have insurance with us or anything like that.
Pre-Op: paperwork. you can't make long distance phone calls and your cell phone doesn't get service. the only people who you want at the hospital have Colorado Springs' area codes. we're supposed to talk to you about living wills...but we won't actually...we'll just tell you we have to tell you this. can you take your underwear off? we have to shave you? wait, that wasn't a question.
Monet! Someone I love! Get me out of this bureaucratic wasteland of a hospital before they bill me for crying on the sheets.
Anesthesia: we make bad jokes that are supposed to make you feel comfortable and we don't really tell you what's going to happen.................convulsions, I am f-ing cold!!! I can't breathe. Who the hell are you? Recovery Room?: a nurse from Chicago who doesn't really like Denver because she is single and 40 and doesn't really like me because I yell at her for not letting me se my girlfriend or mom, who have both been waiting for three hours because this hospital doesn't have enough rooms for the amount of people that are ill. Why do these people get to talk to people they know and you keep leaving me to join the conversation. I am pumped full of morphine and whatever gas they used to knock me out and I am going to cry and curse because my blood pressure is 190 over 100...what the hell?
They didn't ask if I even wanted to keep my appendix. I didn't but I could have given it as a gift (ex-girlfreind or first-born, either/or).
Seeing my loved ones after this long has made me realize that I'm glad I lived through all of this and won't mind halving my savings account the following week, or whenever I get the bill. Seeing Monet makes me want to elope. Seeing my mom makes me want to cry again. I am a bad patient... I cry and curse a lot.
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