Total Knockout

It's pushing 1:00 am and I can't sleep. (Party animal!) Probably had too much fun in my troll-ish sleeping under the bridge episode with the general anesthesia. Man was I out. The whole day was a bit funny. I wasn't supposed to eat or drink anything, but sometime around 10 am-ish, I cracked and ate a deviled egg. If I go too long without eating or drinking, I can get really ill, causing a major drop in blood glucose which has a couple of times scared me into thinking I was having a seizure. Or maybe I did have a minor seizure. Not today, but in the past. But whatever. So I ate the egg. I really didn't think it would be that big of a deal. The way I thought it was all going to go down was that I would get a mild sedative, and be slightly awake for surgery, not a full blown knockout. Flash to pre-op, and all of a sudden it was a big deal, with all these threats of vomiting myself to death. Now, I'm not a newbie to GA, or the dangers of eating before surgeries, but I honestly didn't think this whole thing was going to be that big of a deal. Was I scared? Hell yes. Did I also know that the surgery had to happen and that it'd be advantageous to get over myself and just deal? Ya, you bet. Did I think 45 calories would bump me back on the ticket? No. Not really. Then, a nod through the curtain from my fantastic surgeon who reminded me (I had forgotten, or conveniently blacked out) of the fact that I was also getting a resection on the left boob as well. So I was the winner of a bilateral situation. Oops. Forgot about that minor detail. Double the fun.

So, after delaying the surgery for 2.5 extra hours because of deviled egg-gate (Spent playing charades with mom in pre-op. Side note: turns out we are decently acceptable players), I was wheeled into the OR at around 3:30 pm. Cut to some hot liquid entering my body via my IV, and a sleepy feeling, and then a mask over the face. The next thing I remember is being wheeled out through the doors from the operating room to post op. It was quarter after five, and someone said, "How are you doing?" And I said, "I just got so much done! I've been in meetings all day, answered about 200 emails." Then the first voice giggled and burst my bubble, telling me that it was all a dream and that I just finished surgery. A confused grin spread across my face; I wasn't convinced. Then, reality hit (probably as the drugs waned out of my system) and I was kinda bummed. Clearly, my subconcious thinks I'm some sort of kickass CEO or something. Not a bad alter ego to have, better than an endless dream about cleaning vomit after vomit after vomit or losing a knife fight, I guess.

I was released from the hospital sometime in the late six o'clock hour, just in time to finish up rush hour traffic. Perfect. We were home a little after 7:00 pm, and I proceeded to eat everything in the house. A true Oldwyn. Never lacking a desire to munch. Some people wish for more energy in life, I wish for a quell in appetite. At age 33, though, it may be time to just give up. Things probably won't be changing.

Side note: Shouldn't these Oxy pills be making tired? What the fizz. I will never completely understand narcotics.

Lots of favorite parts of my day, but only one with a photo. Surgery waiting rooms these days are like going to Chilli's. They have buzzers for when we're done, or if there's an update with our condition. Very fancy. Note: I haven't been to Chilli's since 2001, so don't be upset when they don't have the buzzer system. I was just illustrating a point. 

It is both very fun to be awake this late, but also exciting to think that I might be able to tickle Dan awake in the five o'clock hour for work. There's not much more in life I love than waking people up. It's perversely gratifying for me. It's like this, in my mind, "Ha! I caught them! And they're asleep!" Not to trumpet my skills, but I'm pretty good at catching people. Here's a trick, make lots of friends who are night owls. But that's all I'm going to give away.