Dreaming in a Morphine Hangover

I spent the last several days in the hospital with what looked like appendicitis, but turned out to be a ruptured ovarian cyst.  The pain of a ruptured cyst rivaled that of childbirth.  I am not kidding.  It sucked holy hell.

The good news is, I got lots of morphine and slept through most of it.  Now I’m home with little orange pill bottles piled around me, with orders to stay in bed and do nothing.  So I’m just lying here, me and my buddy tinnitus, the ever-present ringing in my ears, through which I can hear the sound of children playing out in the sun.  That would be my child, and the two neighbor girls who have adopted her into their pack, for better or for worse (today they brought Ry a sugary Icee Pop as long as my arm. And she’s picking up their valley-girl talk: “Mama, can I, like, surf the web now?”).

We sure do have a different life here in Lebanucky.  I would never have imagined myself here.  Of course I miss much of Austin; there are no topless babes here, no Leslie the homeless transvestite, not too many freaks, hippies or weirdos, not as much vibrant color everywhere – and none of my Austin people.  It’s going to bring me trouble to dye my hair purple, or get the labret piercing I’ve been wanting.  I’m not saying I’m going to go mainstream, for the sake of not rockin’ the boat… but I don’t have to advertise my Wiccan leanings.  It’s good to learn when to reveal, and when to guard.  It takes strength of character and self confidence.  Which I don’t have in abundance, thus no purple hair as of yet.

I have gotten into the local community college, and hope to begin online BSN courses this summer.  I’m just very, very tired of never having enough money.  I want a little piece of land, maybe 3/4 acre, for my chickens, garden and goats.  Yes, goats.  For milk, cheese and butter.  Did I mention I learned to make butter?  Right in my food processor!  It’s delicious.  I will have goats, and I will have butter.  First I’ve got to get my white coat and prescription  pad.  I will be an urban homesteader with a Masters in Nursing.  And I will find a cure for tinnitus.

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2 responses to “Dreaming in a Morphine Hangover

  1. Wow, Blue. I know what you’re going through. I had heard from others who have experienced both childbirth and OCR that they were similar in pain level, but your verification clinches it for me.

    For over six years, I had an ovarian cyst rupture pretty much every month — from years of being amenorrheic, my ovaries were absolutely studded with cysts, and once I began approaching menopause, they were popping like bubble wrap. I passed out once, but after that (and not having the resources to go to the ER every time), I began actually trying to lean into the pain, stay calm and relaxed as it hit and overtook me. I got really good at it, and it cut down the recovery period from three days to one. Plus only one tramadol, or maybe two. I still pissed myself and ran a fever, for half a day, but – it was quite the learning experience.

    At last, with menopause appearing to have taken hold this year, it’s been several months since I had a rupture. (Knock wood.)

    I love being a girl.

  2. Crap, Maggie. I can only imagine having one natural childbirth, and one ruptured cyst, in my lifetime. Apparently I have another, bigger cyst, ripening in there…

    Menopause is sounding pretty good right about now.

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