Whew, Good Times Are Rolling!
So I’m finally back from the pre-op, after a long wait for five minutes worth of tests. I asked the EKG specialist to take a picture after the test, but apparently they have “rules” that say they can’t do that. Bitch.
Anyways, here is a boring set of pictures I took and posted on Twitter throughout the morning. Kind of gives you an idea of what the whole thing was like. I’d say enjoy, but that’d be stretching it.
Aaaaand we’re off.
This made me laugh, though the slogan, corporate brainstorm as it is, is in fact true. They’re curing people of heinous diseases and pulling tiny microscopic sicknesses from people’s bones. But this was the breezeway that they made me walk through after my surgery in 2002, despite my long string of curses. So yeah, amazing things happened in that breezeway — I set a record for nurses and family members promised murder.
Consider me your backstage, VIP pass.
They gave me a whole chart of information about just how fucked up I’ll be for about a week following surgery. They could have summarized it and saved paper by saying simply that I’ll feel like shit, but I guess they had to lay out the details. They’re scientists, after all.
My one worry? That tube that breathes for you. I woke up last time and flipped out, because it felt like I was choking. Within ten minutes of waking up, I was threatening the doctor with hand signals meant to convey that I would slice his throat, though I can’t imagine the threat was very credible, considering the condition of the source. Still, I was breathing on my own a few minutes later.
An old friend: the EKG machine. The gentlest of heart tests.
