Herro friends, family (family, actually I hope you're not reading this) and the other three fans of my blog! Guess what? You're all at school. Guess what else? I'm NOT. I ate myself a motherf*ckin cookie and some sunchips for breakfast, and guess what you had? A really hurried bowl of cereal with possibly questionable milk. Guess what you're wearing? Nice jeans, perhaps a tasteful shirt. I am in flannel pajamas, bitches.
Okay enough about that. You'd all rather be me, gimp-waddle and all.
So I have discovered a beautiful thing. I have had this surgery before and it was miserable, but there was a HUGE difference this time. His name is codeine.
Basically, with the codeine, my only problem is the surgeon's fault. I had Spock as an anesthesiologist (only a woman) who, unlike the other seventeen doctors who treated me like a pancake, was all brisk and shit: (that sounds like a good old western gangster meal. brisk and shits): who was all like "Hi. You look stupid. Thank god my breathe-y tube can breathe for you, stupid face. anyway, hurr's some drugs now you better not mess up breathing". Whereas the other doctors were all like (insert small blonde nurse here. For some reason, I always end up with the small blonde nurses that make me feel like the Incredible Brunette Hulk) they were all like (float down from a cloud) "Helloooo! Rachael!! It's nice to meet you! Oh aren' you so pretty in your hospital gown and cap! (they made me wear booties too even though I revolted. Stupid revolutions never get us anywhere) "So this surgery's gonna be sooper-easy!! Also there will be cookies for you when you're done! <3 Ohhh you won't feel a thing you'll be soooo sleepy it's just like a nap! :)" (yeah. just like a nap). But anyway, I digress. My problem is my Amazonian Spock Hun of an anasthesiologist messed up my throat. I cannot breathe. Her male nurse guy (who looked like Lee on Desperate Housewives) basically told us there was nothing we could do about it, but if I felt like dying, I should call someone first. Thank you, Lee. You lost 1,000 XP and are no longer my favourite Housewife. Later in the evening I was having so much trouble breathing we ended up BACK in a hospital. The emergency room, to be precise. Good God was that a mistake. I think 'Emergency Room' is hospital-talk for 'fraternity' because there were two doctors on call and the rest were in the smoking room, having a grand old time while people around them collapsed and died.
It's not exactly a great time to party in the emergency room. Especially on a Tuesday. Fuck Tuesdays.
Anyway, I waited in that cigar-fraternity waiting room for an hour before they could ask me what was wrong, and another hour while the only doctor on staff, Amazonian Conan-the-Barbarian Destroyer-of-Worlds, could get around to me. He actually made everything seem like an emergency. He flew into my room like Batman. This is how our conversation went.
"So you had surgery."
"Yep."
"Throat's gonna kill you."
"Possibly?"
"Steroids."
"Excellent."
So a nice nurse came and gave me steroids. I still can't talk or breathe. Thank you, Tuesday gods. You continue to astound me.
Also here is what I've been doing:
-Taking three hour naps
-eating cookies
-dressing up in my prom dress and heels and waddling around the house (trying to get my seductiveness on)
-writing for the ukulele
-pretending I'm a ninja and spying on my neighbours
-not doing my hair (excellent)
-trying not to die choking on my own tonsils (harder than it looks)
-missing school, in the literal sense.
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