Surgery

Winding through the endless spiral roadways of the parking garage brings back memories of previous surgeries and does nothing to ease my anxiety. The slightly ill feeling from spiraling about only intensifies when I walk into the hospital. Nothing's changed after all these years. It still smells sterile, white, sick. It's closterphobic. The white walls reflecting everything. The cold floors echoing with the sound of busy doctors and lost patients. At least this time there will be no gas. No floating into oblivian wondering if I'll ever return. Ah, the waiting room. At least this area has carpet and soft if not comfortable chairs. I'm sure they've done a study to get the exact balance right on the edge of comfort. "Carolyn Harris!" Hmm, not me. How do people go on talking like nothing's wrong. Can't they sense there are dying people somewhere nearby. Somehow hospitals have become as grave yards to me. The sad families. The subdued children's voices. "David Sexton!" Oops, that's me! "Ok, now we're going to give you a couple of shots to numb your ankle." Ok, I can deal with a couple shots... Prick! Ouch, that hurt, but it's ok. The needle is in now. Pain! Burning pain! I guess the medicine hurts worse than the needle. "Ok good. Now two more and we'll be done." Two more.. I can deal with that. The same pricking and burning only this time it's worse. The shots come one after another. The pain of the previous one added to the next. Pain! Building... The room begins to spin. It's only three shots. "Ok, now just two more." Didn't he say that last time? I hope he knows what he's doing. AAAA! Why does that one hurt so much more? "Sorry, I had to give you a shot through your old scar tissue." Hmm, that makes sense. The tissue is thicker so it'd hurt more. Alright that's enough! I swear I've got to throw up. I should'n have eaten that sandwich for lunch. I'm hot. The room is spinning and my blood is boiling. "Hmm you ok? You look a little green. Here, I'll lean the chair back a little. Is that better?" Wow, surprisingly that's better. Blood seems to be flowing normally again. Ou! Another shot? I thought he was done. AHAHAAHAHA! I'm going insane! This is helarious! It hurts. AHAHAHA. I can't stop laughing. I've lost it! "There, we're finished, step this way please." Finally, done. I slip my feet back into my sandals. Only it's strange because I feel like I'm wearing half a sandal. I can't feel half of my foot. I walk down the hall to the great cold operating room. Lie back on the edge of comfort bed. Ah, this is better. That's what I need. Just let me lie here for a while. "I'm going to wash your foot. Oh, here's a pillow." Nice, I'm being waited on hand and foot. Or maybe just my foot, but who cares. I'm shivering and I'm not sure it's from cold or the shots. Iodine is cold and sticky. My poor feet is gonna freeze. I feel them incase my foot in a sterile towel-like wrapping. I wait as they prepare their instruments of death and destruction. I hope my foot is numb enough for this... I feel a sharp slicing pain. I tell them it hurts. They're very sorry and send someone to get yet another shot. This time I don't feel it when they inject me. I feel nothing as they carefully slice me open as they discuss their plans for the weekend. They seem to ponder my naked bone for a long while. Consulting the x-ray for varification. I feel the click sound the screw driver makes as it finds it's seat in the head of the first screw. A twingue of something. It's an ache, not so much pain because bones don't have nerve cells. I feel the screw working it's way out of my body. I now know how a piece of wood must feel. They go slow. I'm not sure if it's because they're talking or because they don't want my bone to chip or whatever. Click, twist, push click twist, twist, twist and the second screw goes plunk into the waiting tray. I feel nothing as they stitch the insission closed. I lift my foot while they wrap it in a many-layered bandage. "Do you want your screws?" I say of course I want them. I've been living with them a year and a half and I'd really like to know what they look like. I thank them for the screws and walk out. I escape down the spiraling roadway of the parking garage. I am free and I tell myself to avoid breaking anymore bones in the future. Although my thoughts and anxiety of operations seems silly you must understand that I have had over 30 surgeries and most of those in my first year of life. The atmosphere of a hospital is imprinted vividly on my mind. One's first memories should not be of spiraling garages and stark white corridors. Of not being able to eat for 25 hours. Imagine, babies have to eat all the time, yet I had to go 24 hours without food. Is that why I'm so skinny now? I still feel like I never eat enough. I propose that before memories are impressions. These early impressions are alive and well in my subconscious. I'm ready for these stitches to come out! I go tomorrow to see if they're ready to come out. Other than taking pain medicine and reading I haven't done much since my operation. DWS

good morning!

Good morning world! I planned a fourth of july party and it was fun. No one wanted to help with stuff as usual.... bla! i almost wrote bra... Thats' what i get for using a dvorak keyboard--the r and l are right next to each other. I miss phone conferences! I miss all the friends that disappeared. Holly and Darcy need to add my new msn before I attack with my army of giant canadian-eating camels! I squashed a big juicy bug! It really should not have crawled on my arm... It went splat. I didn't know such a small bug had so much juice in it! How do they get all the straws inside the little paper wrappers?

True story!

This happened to me yesterday! True absalutely true! Written and edited by Carrie Delecourt. Professor Sexton and the Burrito Mishap That morning, for some inexplicable reason, Professor Sexton decided he wanted some burritos for breakfast. He opened the freezer and rummaged through the contents, frozen pizza, bags of frozen peas, frozen broccoli, frozen artichoke hearts, chicken à la king. He found the burritos, unwrapped them, covered them generously with grated cheddar cheese, then set them in the microwave. The phone in his bedroom rang. Who would be calling him at four in the morning? He wondered. It could only be one person. Francine. “Hello,” he said gruffly into his phone. “Did I wake you?” Francine asked. “What do you think?” “I think you were already awake,” Francine guessed. Professor Sexton grunted. The microwave tinged in the kitchen. “Just a second,” he said. “Where are you going?” he heard her ask as he set the phone down on the desk. Professor Sexton, wearing only a tee shirt, of course, since it was only four in the morning, retrieved his burritos from the microwave. He grabbed a fork on his way out of the kitchen and headed for the dining room with his plate. He switched on the television, then he remembered Francine on the telephone in his bedroom. “What took you so long?” she pouted. His computer beeped. Jennifer! He propped the phone between his ear and his shoulder and tried to balance the plate of burritos and the fork while he reached for the keyboard. The plate wobbled perilously. “Just a minute.” He set the plate of steaming burritos on his swivel chair. “What are you doing?” Francine asked curiously. “Was that your computer?” “No, that was my fork falling on the floor,” said Professor Sexton crossly. The computer beeped again impatiently. “What fork?” asked Francine. Professor Sexton sat down on his chair and immediately felt a searing sensation on his buttocks. He stood up abruptly and suddenly remembered the plate of burritos, which were now smeared over his bottom half and sending waves of unbearable pain throughout his entire body. “Ouch!” he bellowed. “What? What?” Francine cried into the phone. Professor Sexton had never felt such pain, especially in that area. He dropped the phone and reached for something, anything. He grabbed a pillow, ripped the pillowcase off and tried to remove the blistering cheddar cheese. Francine was shouting and the computer had stopped beeping. Professor Sexton threw down the pillowcase. He reached over and clicked off the phone, cutting off Francine in mid-sentence. The computer was silent. Jennifer was gone. His breakfast was on his pillowcase. His buttocks were throbbing. He would not be able to sit down for the rest of the day, probably, and wondered if he needed to go to the emergency room. Professor Sexton returned to the freezer for the bag of frozen peas. As he applied them gingerly to his scorched and blistered bottom, he thought it might be a good idea to start wearing boxers again. P. Sexton