Tomorrow is my post-op, where I get to have my doctor peer for two seconds at my incision after I have undoubtably waited for her for at least 45 minutes for the privilege of having her look at my lower bits. Since my wounds are healing quite nicely (you know, because I tore the glue right off of them, so, you know, they could breathe better), I really only have one important thing to ask her: Why was I not wearing pants when I went in with pants.
There is probably a very good reason for it, but the idea of someone (or more than one!) wriggling the hospital paper pants off of my basically dead body just creeps the fuck out of me. My therapist suggested they maybe cut them off instead of pulling them off of me. IS THAT ANY BETTER? If I didn't need pants on, couldn't I have just gone in with the gown, and leave with a modicum of dignity?
If that conversation goes well, I may (probably timidly) ask if I said anything totally embarrassing when I was in twilight before completely going under in to general anesthesia. The last thing I remember saying in the OR was, "No, they did not give me a pregnancy test this morning, but I can promise you I am NOT pregnant." And now I'll never be, brahahaha. But just think of all the stuff I could have said. Like maybe, "Hey, why are you taking off my pants?"
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We're on the fourth season of Homicide now after our brief detour in to the second season of True Blood. This episode has that weird bug-eyed girl that pops up every now and again, but the most memorable role (for me, at least) was her short-lived bit on Six Feet Under as a crazy mortician. Right now her character is asking a detective "where's the strangest place [he] has had sex."
I only mention this because I have been thinking of these sort of things lately. Going off birth control is already creating a positive glow within me. So, I've been thinking of past locations. And none of them particularly strange, but terribly public. So very public. Parks, parking lots, in a Jeep with the top off, under a bridge, in a field (good god my legs were EATEN out there), and on a picnic table (a metal one, left weird indents on my ass). It just sounds so pedestrian, yet completely crazy because now I think, jebus, how many people saw me having sex? Did I have no decency? Oh, we're talking about me. Right. So there you go people, just a few of the non-strange places I have had sex. Which brings me to another apology: I apologize to everyone out there who has ever had to unwillingly see my big, very white bum. Don't worry, I'm in therapy now.
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The reason I know how to spell anesthesia without having to look it up or use spellcheck:
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