Foghat

Is this thing on? And by “this thing,” I mean my brain’s synapses. Which technically, then, should be “Are these things on?” which tells you the answer is no.

Hello. I know this is news to most of you, but I had surgery nine days ago. And here’s the irony: Whereas in most cases I make a huge, over-the-top, Dooce-level deal out of things and usually they turn out to be nothing, in this case I secretly thought my surgery

—did you know I had surgery?—

would be no big deal, just a few days under the weather, when in fact oh my god I have a brain cloud. My mind is just…not working.

I’ve phoned my doctor’s office, twice now, so let’s count down till she quits, and it turns out it’s normal to feel this foggy and out of it and slow as Mrs. Butterworth’s bodily fluids (is there still a Mr. Butterworth?), but man is it disconcerting. My rapier wit is all I had. Or at least my I-get-handsy-when-drunk wit.

I haven’t taken Percocet in a week, and have plans to dress as Huggy Bear, in a jaunty cravat, and sell it right outside my door. Maybe set up a lemonade stand of sorts. I haven’t even taken the Advil since Saturday. The pain is pretty tolerable, but of course remember I’m tough and no-nonsense like that buzz-cutted creature Demi Moore played. What was her name? Oh, right, Demi Moore.

Bah. Okay, I’m not THAT bad. And in fact today I feel a bit better, although I have no idea if this post is making any sense. OH! But I’m glad I thought of this! People have sent food and books and jewelry and so on and it’s SO NICE, and my mother takes the boxes, and I say to myself, “What a wonderful world” and also, “I’ll remember who sent this”

AND

THEN

I DON’T.

So I know I have not thanked people and I really apologize. I’ve been trying to keep up with who sent what but fog. Fog on the water.

Currently, I am sporting a baby-blue cardigan over a pair of pale-green cabbage rose pajamas. I have completed my look with lavender ankle socks. I haven’t put on clothes in 10 days. In fact, I’m washing my robes/pajamas right now, three at a time so I don’t lift more than 10 pounds, because when you have the support group I do,

it’s easy to get fur-clad. Really, if you were in the market for pets, mine have been a dream and I highly recommend you steal them for your next convalescence. Only two of the four are actively dying. Well worth the misdemeanor.

Look. I don’t know what’s wrong with Iris, exactly, but it isn’t good. And old Eds may last ages. I’ve had people throw Blu for him, since I can’t. I tried to toss Blu for him yesterday. Like, I sort of rolled it across the grass, since my mother and stepfather left for fun and profit and wild blue yonders and so on. I DO have backup friends and neighbors who said they’d help and I think Ima have to cash in my chips on getting someone to throw for Eds. Also I can’t lift the animals’ water dish, so today I put water in the kettle and kind of poured new water in there, but that’s disgusting. I want to pour it all out and start anew.

You know what occurs to me. I have a GIANT bowl down there, from back when we had Lottie. Before Garp bit Bonkie. I don’t NEED that giant of a bowl any longer with just one aged dog and three backup cats who don’t drink much because they’re all on keto. So what I can do is wait till the water level gets lower, later today, lift THAT, dump it out, and replace it with a reasonable bowl. Like, a Walter Cronkite bowl.

I’m glad we solved that together. This all has been good for my problem-solving skills.

Also, speaking of problem-solving, whilst my beleaguered family was here, which is a bit of a blur, or really a lot of a blur, we decided to watch my slides. I have slides and a slide projector that had belonged to my father, who was a photographer. And I was an only child. So basically the slides are his half of the 3940509204 photos taken of me from birth to age 11, when everyone divorced.

First, the slides and projector were up too high in the closet. I tried to reach them and felt self splitting in two, so I called my mother in. Who is shorter than me by four inches. See: fog.

So then we called my stepfather in, who is 9 feet tall, and he handed each slide box to me who really shouldn’t have been lifting them. See: fog.

Then we got the huge heavy clunky slide projector and took everything to the living room and of course had a terrible time finding where to plug it in because this house was built in 1922 before there were plugs and I have no idea how anyone watched cable in 1922 and they all must have been cranky.

So after dragging out not one but TWO power strips from other rooms, which involved unplugging all the things plugged into them in those rooms and finding the first power strip mysteriously didn’t work in the living room, after that, we finally got the projector turned on. It was mostly me in the cardigan and pajamas that turned it on.

Then my stepfather and I spent 49 hours trying to get the slides to rotate on the projector. There were the world’s most vague instructions on the back of the slides, instructions my stepfather, who has 79 degrees and also 98 Degrees including one of those easy-to-get medical degrees, could not comprehend.

After the fall of the Roman empire and the Revolution and Prince, we figured out how to get the slides to rotate. Then we just had to take the TV down so we could project the slides. I couldn’t do this, so my stepfather and mother did.

“Please try not to unplug the things in the back,” I said, as they unplugged all the things in the back.

Finally, FINALLY, we were ready.

And?

Light bulb burned out on projector.

Now, see, anyone related to me by blood would have smashed everything with a bat, like in Office Space, but my stepfather very methodically found out what kind of new bulb we needed, then headed out with my mother to get one at a local store.

They were out of that particular kind.

Then we couldn’t figure out which plugs went where in the TV. TV is pretty much ALL I HAVE TO DO right now, so.

At this point, ANY NORMAL HUMAN would have shot up an entire stadium with a rifle, but my stepfather very methodically figured out the plug sitch and then ordered said bulb online, which came in the mail yesterday.

So yesterday, we finally, finally sat down, the three of us, to watch slides of my childhood, and we once again figured out how to put the slides on the machine the right way in order to rotate them, and my stepfather Job put the bulb in, and then?

The first set of slides were all vacation pictures from a trip my father took in 1981.

The good news is, we finally got to slides of my mother and me, and most of them were upside-down and flipped, and since I literally have nothing else to do I am going to turn the projector back on and methodically turn them all the right way during this, my convalescence.

I have to go, because London called and wants it fog back. I feel this is an excellent time to shower, as my washer cycle has ended so I won’t have one of those upsetting showers where it’s like you have a fever with the hot and the cold and the hot again. Those are the worst.

From the operations department,
June

P.S. Also, I mostly posted because poor Sadie, who’s not on any social media, kept leaving sad, “Hope you’re not dead” comments on my last post, whenever the hell that was. I’M ALIVE, Sadie! Sort of.

43 thoughts on “Foghat

  1. Thank you for taking the time and the effort to write to/for us. It is very appreciated. You are still funny, still you just a bit temporarily altered. I hope it resolves itself soon.

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  2. Bless you! You posted! And the post is fabulous!

    I so wanted to leave “thinking of you” messages on your last post but was worried I would annoy. So I sent you good vibes via my Mr. Rogers trained imagination (automatically adding my quilt square to my internal “thinking of you. L & P” MindPress comment) and pictured you having grand adventures while healing & house bound.

    So glad you’re ok, healing, and have a connected TV. There are some hella good shows to binge right now so… bright side?

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    1. Also bless you for your clever reference to fog & London as I’m now happily singing A Foggy Day (in London Town) – the Keely Smith/Louis Prima version and sometimes Fred Astaire for kicks. Had forgotten that gem!

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  3. So nice to hear from you and see that you are doing ok – even tho a bit foggy! It is such a great excuse for so many things – right? Like – oh dear, I didn’t get this or that done… ya… ya know. hmmm

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  4. So nice to hear from you and see that you are doing ok – even tho a bit foggy! It is such a great excuse for so many things – right? Like – oh dear, I didn’t get this or that done… ya… ya know.

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  5. Thank you for posting as I’m “lenting” social media. I wonder how many Catholics i just offended by making that a verb. I hope your fog horn lifts soon.

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  6. So glad you are feeling better-ish!
    People watching old slides or movies always makes me think of Clark Griswald in the attic in a robe and turban watching old Christmas home movies.
    When my parents’ house flooded (THANKS, Harvey!) I rescued a few carousels of slides. I selected about 100, took them to Costco, and they turned them into a DVD. Wayyy easier to watch them on the tv or monitor. I recommend it for all you slide lovers out there.

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  7. Yes recovering from anesthesia and pain meds is rougher than they lead you to believe in soap operas. I had my surgery in my 20’s and a couple months later I was out hiking with friends at a quarry. These guys climbed up a small wall and I still didn’t have the strength to do that so they each grabbed an arm and pulled me up. My whole front side got filthy and dirt went down my shirt and in my hair. Oh it was embarrassing and a mess and I still feel weird when I think about it. Those guys are still my friends though, 20 plus years later…

    I recently rescued 10 boxes of slides from the curb. Slide projectors are a pain in the ass, it gives me more respect for my college Art History professors. After using 2 slide projectors, 2 slide viewers and a light board, I decided to just buy a nice scanner and scan them all to my computer. It’s time consuming but I am obsessed with these slides. Many are family photos and a portion are old, old photos of town which is fascinating. You would appreciate these photos, once I have them all scanned in I will share some with you.

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  8. I got an eye twitch reading this.

    I have boxes of slides from my late father, who was also a professional photographer, and I’m kind of afraid to look at them because he was an aficionado of the naked female body, if you get my meaning.

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  9. Your brain fog extended all the way to Charlotte this morning. Oh look, June’s here.

    It has lifted or drifted this afternoon and I hope that is a good sign for you.

    I send you sympathy and empathy. Sometimes when I have flares they come with brain fog and that sitch is a bitch. It makes one feel stupid.

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  10. Calling London- they want thrir fog back. Bah ha ha! You still have it somewhere beneath the fog. The pjs sound super cute. I can think of at leadt 8 explosive, violent things I would have done to the slide projector.

    Glad you are alive!

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  11. You are still funny. The fog is real, hopefully it will lift soon. Good for you following doctor’s orders, my husband found out the hard way that dragging 10 lbs. is the same as lifting 10 lbs. So glad you have your snuggle pets. Poor Iris. Your step-father really is a patient man.
    Tee

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  12. My sister had the same issue after her hysterectomy. She didn’t need pain meds, but she was very foggy and couldn’t focus.

    Sounds like you’re on the mend and every day will get better.

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  13. So good to hear from you and learn how you’re doing! Love the pet photos. They love their mumsy and are, obviously, enjoying having you around. Napping buddies! Continue to heal and be good to yourself. It will all be fine…eventually. But the foggy-ness does tend to linger longer than we’d like.

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  14. So good to hear from you! I’m a little grateful that you’re still in a fog. Maybe you won’t realize that I haven’t sent your gift yet. Keep feeling better, Joon.

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  15. I’m glad you’re recuperating. I have the fog without the surgery… Part of being almost 55, I think. BLAAAAAHHH!!

    I love your pets.

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  16. You’re alive! Thanks for feeling sorry for me and posting. Your adventures with your slide projector almost makes me want to drag out my mid-70s projector and slides to see if it still works. Your stepfather is a saint. So glad he and Mother were there to care for you in your first week.

    Whenever we have a foggy morning, I’ll think of you. You and Foghorn Leghorn.

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  17. So very glad to see that you are still alive-ish! And also too, I’m very glad you are trying to follow post surgery instructions. It will pay off for you later, though it can be a big drag now. Your nursing staff seems to be top notch so that is also good. Keep on keeping on!

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  18. The recovery from major surgery certainly does take a long time. I’m glad that your Mum and stepdad came to nurse you through it. Your stepdad has the patience of a saint. Most of the men in my life would be swearing and throwing a hissy fit. Thank you for letting us know how you are. Take care.

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  19. They did not take your funny out with this surprise surgery! I wish you had told us so we could have worried with you. I remember my last knee surgery and feeling foggy for a couple of weeks and then POOF I was back to normal.It will happen, just be patient. And you have good helpers to keep you going there! Thank you for taking the time and effort to write to us, June.

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  20. I don’t know why they tell you the anesthesia wears off in so many hours, but then don’t mention that it will take weeks for the last traces to leave your system. I had the insomnia/depression type residual stuff and it sucked. Exhausted but couldn’t sleep, among other things. Save your energy and outsource everything you can until you feel better. Can you get groceries delivered? Hang in there and thanks for the update!

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  21. You seem pretty sharp to me, and very funny too. Your stepdad sounds a lot like my husband. About twelve years ago he thunped a magazine down in disgust and said a swear word and we still talk about it. I love winter because the cats shed so much less and am dreading the day when they drop all their winter fur. I miss the carefree days of outside cats and less cleaning. So very glad that you are on the mend and writing for your tens of lovely readers again.

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  22. Slides! When my brother and I were cleaning out my parents’ house we spent an evening looking at 50+ years of our lives.

    Good for you in the not-lifting-more-than-10-pounds department. They tell you that you for a reason, but I more or less ignored the advice after a couple of weeks and regret it.

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  23. I’d have lit that projector and the slides on fire way before the bulb came. The main is a saint.

    You four footed support system is doing a great job!

    Box from me arrives tomorrow, according to UPS. Not 10 pounds, do not be afraid.

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  24. So glad to hear from you even through the fog! You’re a saint for writing to us. Your stepfather really is Job. What a guy.

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