I just flew in from a propofol high and boy is my uterus tired.
So I had my surgery yesterday, and oh, did I mention I was having surgery? Do you wish I'd bring it up more often? Do you wish I'd start talking about my hutch again?
Anyway, my pal Laurie got to take me the .0008th of an inch to the hospital, because did I mention the hospital was close by? It's closer than my hutch. It's somewhere between my neighbor Peg's house and the dead lady across the street. It is not far, is what I am telling you. Nevertheless, they don't want you to walk there when you are having general anesthesia, so whatever.
I knew I was in trouble when Laurie showed up with her camera and a bag of props.
The first thing they did when we got there was put me in a purple gown and some lovely purple socks. Which Laurie captured on film.
It gave me a charming bosom-y look.
Laurie gave me a cute black-and-white kitty, kind of an anti-Francis, to comfort me.
Anyway, Laurie pointed out that she would not really be with me when I would be good and out of it after, so she posed me with her cruel props and we pretended she captured me in the whole passed-out-and-vulnerable-after-surgery time.
After her funny, funny props were used up, all that was left to do was wait. Finally, my doctor came to say we were ready. He wondered if I had any questions, and I said, "Really just one. You never let me know if my biopsy was okay."
"Oh, it must have been," he said. "Hang on." He whipped open his cell phone. "Kim, check June Gardens' biopsy. There was a pause. "What do you mean?" he asked. I started to feel a little prickly. "This is not good…not good at ALL. The patient is right here in front of me!" he said.
At this point I went from being all warm and hot-air-blown to an ice sculpture at a wedding. I was frozen in terror. Aren't you glad I somehow didn't manage to say I was Lot's Wife? You know I like to throw her into any scenario where I was unmoving. But really. I was horrified.
He slammed his phone shut. "Your results were normal, sweetie."
I was so covered in sweat at that point that I could have been a salt lick. I was totally Lot's Wife.
See what I did there?
"WHY WERE YOU SAYING 'THIS IS NOT GOOD', THEN?" I squeaked.
"Oh, did I scare you?" he kneeled down, grabbing my arm. "I am so sorry. I was berating my nurse. We're short-staffed and no one had scanned in your results, and that was totally unacceptable, because what if your results had been bad? You are here all ready for surgery, and had the results been bad we couldn't do your surgery today. I was just telling her that. I am so sorry."
Fortunately for all of us, it was at that point that the nurse came in who gives you that shot they give you before surgery? The one I would GIVE YOU MY HOUSE FOR if you could just give me that shot every day? The one where I don't care if you remove my HEAD while I'm on it? What is that shot?
Oh, also? There was a nurse there who looked exactly like Jamie Lee Curtis. Just exactly. And do you know every time I saw her what I did in my head? I sang, ActiviAAA!
Now, isn't that awful? Jamie Lee Curtis has been in some entertaining movies over the last four decades. And she is a stand-up sister, telling women to cut it out with the plastic surgery, and what do I reduce her to when I see her doppelganger at the hospital?
Although just between you, me, and the lamppost, there, Jamie Lee? I admire you for your stance on plastic surgery. I really do. But nobody's gonna fault you for plumping those lips up just a tad. Really, honey. We love you. But Vera from Plant of the Apes called. Seriously.
Anyway, the next thing you know they were waking me up, and I thought I felt perfectly fine. PERFECTLY FINE! I kept chattering to them. Like a magpie. I FEEL PERFECTLY FINE! I vaguely recall them taking me to a chair and giving me a saltine, and the nurse was really pretty, and I pulled her into the other chair, and over saltines we discussed her sex life.
I am not making that up. I remember saying, "You are so pretty. What's your dating sitch?" and she told me.
And then it was hours later–HOURS–that the worst part of the day came back to me. (Laurie, did I chatter at you about this at the time?)
I was having ahi tuna with my mother last night when I had an AHHHHH! moment. I threw down my fork and said, "AHHHH!"
"WHAT?" said my mother, who probably thought my uterus had just exploded.
"I WAS MR. POTTER!" I screeched, suddenly remembering.
After the hot nurse and I discussed her love life (she's waiting for the right guy), this man came over to wheel me to the door for Laurie to get me out of there. "Ms. Gardens, you're ready to go home now," he said.
Now, this man differed from me demographically in every way. That is why I'm hazarding the guess that he has not watched It's a Wonderful Life 9,000 times, as I have. I could be wrong. But given his reaction to my pretty self, I don't think I am.
"I get to ride in a wheelchair?" I squeaked, completely ignoring Hot Nurse midstory and plopping down. "I'm just like Mr. Potter!"
"Get me to the door!" I said conspriratorily, as Mr. Potter did when he discovered he had Uncle Billy's $8,000. Of course, this guy's JOB was to get me to the door.
Then I'm sorry to tell you I hit this man in the arm with my discharge papers, as Mr. Potter hit his handler in the movie. "ConFOUND IT, man! Hurry up!" I said.
"Yes, ma'am," said this poor guy behind me.
Then? Oh, it all comes back to me in a humiliating rush. I waggled my finger at him. WAGGLED MY FINGER.
"You once called me a warped, frustrated old man," I said to the beleaguered wheelchair pusher. "Well, what are you but a warped, frustrated YOUNG MAN!"
At that point I was really bellowing. And shaking my jowls. I think I was really doing a good Mr. Potter. If I do say so myself.
"I wonder, um, where your friend is," said Wheelchair Guy.
Thank all that is holy and merciful, Laurie's car pulled up and the poor guy pushed me out to her. It's a wonder he didn't just push the chair forward and land me on my head.
In the whole vast configuration of things I'm nothing but a scurvy little spider.
So really, the whole afternoon is a blur. But Laurie got me to the hotel and my mother arrived and I have had no pain at all. Really it's been just fine. Oh! And I came home to get the mail and let the dogs out, and I have get-well letters from both Prince and Barry Gibb. Which I'm certain are real and not from Faithful Readers or anything.
At any rate, thanks for all your kind thoughts and emails and waiting for me in the virtual waiting room yesterday. And oh! I almost forgot.