Triumphant return to the blogosphere

I've gone a little wild with the whole not having to do anything thing, having one arm and all, and totally neglected my bloggage. My surgery went really well last Thursday (very early) morning. I wasn't particularly nervous beforehand, but in retrospect I probably was, what with all the joke cracking I did. When I get the pictures off my mom's Iphone I'll share them...I look really dumb in a too-big shower cap and purple gown, just fyi. My super gay southern accent nurse was the first to come in and hook up my IV. When I joked about the "tropical view" I had on the curtains in front of me, he went on and on about all the cruises he'd gone on. The IV, my biggest fear, went a lot more smoothly than expected. Then the nurses decided to make me take a pregnancy test, even though I promised them I'd have to name the child Jesus due to immaculate conception if I was pregnant. I did have to pee, though, so whatever.

Finally, after 4 or 5 nurses fussed about things for a long time, the rather shy anesthesiologist came and gave me a "margarita." Then he started poking me with things that he sort of didn't really explain were going to happen. He stuck a needle in my neck and said that when my arm started flailing to just let it move. I think that's when I started crying and telling him he was hurting me, to which he kept apologizing. My mom told me later that they called my parents back in, and I kept saying, "I don't want to be a bad patient!" and crying more. When my mom asked me what I was thinking about, I said, "Elephants and rhinos." Which is probably the weirdest stoned person answer ever. Next thing I know the mask came at my face.

When I woke up, I was sure they were killing me. I thought they were still operating and the surgery had gone horribly wrong. But I couldn't really see, and no one was paying attention to me. I started raising my right arm a little bit and gasping, "Help!" A nurse finally came over but would not answer any of my demands as to what they had done to me. There was a giant lump on my shoulder, and I was very displeased. My shoulder was really painful, but I couldn't feel my arm. The nurses said something about morphine, which I protested and talked about opium dens. Eventually they maxed out the drugs on me and gave me a giant, painful shot in my leg that is still bruised. My parents eventually came in, and I got to drink the world's best Sprite. Mildred the Grumpster wheeled me out in a wheelchair, which was a pretty crazy feeling.

Turns out the surgery was the best case scenario. They cut off part of my labrum and cleaned out really bad bursitis. My doctor gave me the pictures of my "angry shoulder," which are pretty gnarly. I had to start moving it that day, and I can move it a little more daily. When I got home that day, though, my arm was still seriously numb. My mom and I were sleeping in my bed when I got some sensation back in my fingers, but as I tried to show her, I socked her in the stomach since I couldn't control the rest of my arm. Oops...

Taking the bandage off was extremely painful, taking off a lot of my skin with it. Showering was also an athletic endeavor and still sort of proves to be. I've been taking it really easy but moving my shoulder a lot. I can do some pretty normal things at this point. I haven't taken Vicodin in 3 days. Friday afternoon I have my follow up and find out what I can do. So hooray.


I think I might have talked about this before, but every Sunday morning I partake in my ritual of reading the wedding announcements over breakfast, or as I call them, "my brides." After seeing 27 Dresses (twice actually), I began to think that I was apt to become the main character, obsessed with weddings and wanting to attend zillions of them. Then today I found myself reading the obituaries, devouring them really, and realized that it probably isn't really the wedding part that I'm so drawn to. It's the story of each person. I don't care who designed the dress or where the reception was. I skim immediately down to the bottom, where it says the bride and groom's high schools, colleges, jobs, where they're going to live. I like to imagine my future life and to read about every one else's. The obituary thing is still a bit creepy though.

I'm also really excited because my high school bff passed on to me the adorably terrifying "sock-eyed mule" I made for her in a feverish stupor after a junior year physics class joke. I miss her so much! And I'm really glad we have this, our traveling sock pal.