So, ok.
We got to the hospital yesterday morning a good bit early, and since we were there that early, they called me in almost immediately.
My surgical nurse was named Tammy, always a good sign, and she got off on the right foot immediately by simply asking me if I had a particular preference for my IV site, and then giving me the Big Fat Guy gown, so that my ass wasn't hanging out.
Way ahead of the game here.
They had me repeat back to them all the stuff that was supposed to get cut on me, so that they were sure I was compos mentis, and that they had the right chart for me.
It turned out Dr. Recalde had only one patient ahead of me, so I went in to the surgical "theater" at about 20 after 10. They had me move to the actual operating table, and scoot around a bit to get in position, and then strapped me to the table.
"I don't think I'm actually going to get up and run away."
"Well, this is just to make sure."
"Captive audience, eh?"
One of the other surgical nurses said "what kind of mad scientists would we be if we let you just get away?"
I said "There needs to be evil music... Dun Dun Dunnnnnnn.... and maniacal laughter. Where's your evil laughter?"
"Bwa ha ha haaaaa!"
"Better. Seriously, do you know how many rookie mad scientists are brought down each year through a lack of sufficient evil laughter? Tons, I tell you."
They had me repeat back to them all the stuff that was supposed to get cut on me, so that they were sure I was compos mentis, and that they had the right chart for me.
...Then the anaesthesia hit.
Whatever it was, was good shit indeed, because I was a solid brick of "Do Not Disturb" until about 1:15. But once I woke up, I was sitting on the side of the bed demanding ice chips almost right away. I can talk, but it hurts.
I saw a coworker there with his (wife? girlfriend? sister? some female) but thanks to the drugs, I was totally unable to place his name. I said hi, though.
Some old dude who had just got cut on was in the next bed and was yakking with me (with very limited verbal reply on my part) about it.
It didn't take them long to get me out of there, actually; once I proved I could A. walk, B. pee, and C. ask for my pants, they were pretty much convinced I was good to go.
So, they gave me prescriptions, and walked me out to the parking lot, bundled me into the car - none of this wheelchair until you're outside bullshit, either, I walked the whole way - and we were off to Wal-Mart.
Where I sat (napped) in the car for almost 2 1/2 hours waiting on my prescriptions.
Now, what they gave me was 3 things: Hydrocodone syrup for the pain (more on this in a minute,) Dexamethasone for the inflammation, and Azithromycin for possible infections.
Of course the second two are pills.
Of course the last one is a really fucking huge horse pill.
You bastards.
The best part, of course, is that any drug that causes nausea as a possible side effect - like, say, hydrocodone - causes nausea for ME. So, after having a dish of ice cream as the first food in 24 hours, about 1 AM I got the ice cream back, and decided that maybe the pain was worth keeping my food down.
So, my face feels like someone pulled my jaw open and hit me in the throat with a claw hammer.
But I can eat.
*Sigh*
The only real discomfort so far - my pain tolerance, honestly, is super-high, and it's largely because of my reaction to painkillers - is that my swallowing pattern has changed, and until the swelling goes away I won't know exactly how; right now anything liquid or semi-solid I swallow winds up going, at least in part, up my nose, which I'm sure will be entertaining in the company cafeteria, but kinda sucks for me.
But I'll get there.
I managed - somehow, while stoned out of my mind on the pain drugs - to finish Guitar Hero 3: Legends of Rock on Easy mode, so I have moved on to Medium, where Tom Morello is a real fucker, instead of a mild annoyance. The songs themselves thus far aren't holding me back, but the boss battle is kicking my ass.
We'll see, Tom, we'll see. I am a quick learner.
So... hopefully back at work on the 24th; I feel fine, other than the obvious clawhammer face thing.
Now is where you all kiss my ass and wish me a speedy recovery, while secretly thinking "OMFG, not even a WEEK without the guy? What the fuck?"
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