Doctor, how about a really thin donut and water smoothie? No? Crap.

Ru said I’m 35, not 36.  Now I’m REALLY confused.  And old.

My medications are definitely making my brain fuzzy, rendering me unable to write anything really worth reading.  This will not do.

In other news, I let Ry dye her hair purple.  Well, she wanted to.  My sweet mother in law was not particularly happy about it, but when presented with a litany of her own children’s shenanigans, she had to admit it’s not that shenanigan-y.  Oh my god.  Someone shoot me for writing that.

I didn’t get any pictures of Rocky’s purple curls before the color started to fade, another example of the slow deterioration of my mind.  Because what parent would NOT want a framed photograph of her 5-year-old child with punk-style Manic Panic hair?

For the next ten minutes I’m stuffing my face, because at midnight I start a pre-surgery 24-hour liquids-n-laxatives fast.  Anything I eat will have to be liquid and see-through.  Which leads me to a very important question: do they make clear-liquid donuts?

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3 responses to “Doctor, how about a really thin donut and water smoothie? No? Crap.

  1. One word: Blender.

    Granulated sugar and water. Boil it, thin it down, sip through a straw.

    Hand in there, buddy. When you wake up, ice chips will be manna.

  2. thanks, Mags. I keep dreaming about you, by the way.

  3. That’s funny, Blue, because at least once a week I dream about you and, uh, your sig other (can’t remember what pseudonym you’ve assigned to her here), either or both of you. Y’all just show up in my dream, join the action, are solid and smart and good news. As in real life.

    My main advice about surgery and being in the hospital is have an advocate with you AT ALL TIMES. If possible, have a pushy friend or family member make their way into recovery, claiming ignorance, ethic custom, whatever it takes. Arrange for a code word which, if you use it, means “something’s wrong, find out what it is” that all your advocates know. You likely won’t need it, but you’ll feel (and be) so much safer for having it.

    Caregivers and medical professionals are good folks but they are way, way overextended by the current system. Shit happens. And the patient with folks around all the time does exponentially better in the hospital.

    I’ll be lighting a candle for you and sending you energy. I twice had someone I trusted try to reach me while I was under anesthesia, to look out for me, and it was successful both times. The third time, she flaked out, although the local Quakers were “holding me in the light” at the hour of my knee replacement. That’s when I had the anoxia and came out with brain injury. I honestly believe the Quakers kept me from dying, especially Paula Rogge. So, I’ll have a rope out, buddy, if you need to reach for it.

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