*i like to integrate a little spanish in with my english. i’m a big fan of mexicans and the mexican language. i’ve found that they (the mexicans) really appreciate when gringos splash in a little espanol every once in awhile. i’m all about integration. adding an hola or a bueno into the mix kind of spices it up a bit. plus. the food. don’t even get me started on the mexican’s food. que rico. (that means “yay rick” in espanol–don’t ask me who rick is–maybe ricky ricardo?)
anyhoo, part dos of the story begins now. when we last left our heroine (that’s me, not the recreational drug–side note: why is heroine an illicit drug AND the name for a female hero? are all female heros considered high? or are we just running out of names for things so we have to recycle already used ones? if you know the answer please email it to idontreallygiveashit.com.
so i woke up in the hospital after having surgery for a twisted ovary that wasn’t. ooh. new movie on lifetime? the twisted ovary that wasn’t, starring judith light and john stamos. i can so see it now. must make mental note to write treatment (that’s showbiz talk for “screenplay”–you non showbiz people kill me with your naivete). anyway, shortly after waking from the surgery and finding myself in a depressing, prison cell-like room, i wanted to cry out, “why me? why, why?” but it came out in babbly baby talk. shortly after, a nurse appeared, took my vital signs and then hooked me up to a demerol pump that was attached to a cord that had a button on the end of it. she placed the button in my hand and said “this is your pain medicine. you can press the button every 6 minutes”…or something like that. i think she actually used more technical, robot terms, but it came across in slow motion charlie brown style…you know, “whaa whaa whaa, whaa whaa…” so of course i’m completely zonked out of my mind from the anesthesia but i can understand what she’s saying so i’m pressing the button then pressing the button, then pressing the button again. she grabs my hand and says, “every. six. minutes. you’re going to break it if you don’t stop pressing the button over and over again.”
and then i swear she called me a junkie while smiling at me through gritted teeth. really? is that so? you think i would go through such theatrics to get pain medicine oh wise nurse with the power tools and the liquid gold? fake a pain so convincing that my brilliant doctor would slice me limb from limb to find absolutely nothing wrong with me? side note: no actual slicing. 2 teeny tiny incisions. one in my belly button and the other in my bikini line. side note #2: i take such issue with waking up with a half shaved crotch. i mean seriously, it had been awhile since i’d groomed that area, but please. if you’re going to start a job, then please finish it, i hardly have the time, what with planning fake surgeries and all. side note #3: my general rule for grooming is this: am i going to sit poolside today? no? then what’s the point? hair grows there for a reason. who am i to question it?
so after explaining the delicacies of the 6 minute demerol, i dozed in and out of sleep. every little while i was awakened by someone new shoving pills down my throat and asking me bizarre questions like, “where’d you hide the body?”*
*actually, that could have been the tv. it’s not a real clear picture, but i’m pretty sure i served 3 years in prison for a murder i didn’t commit.
the next morning i woke up in a fog. what had happened? it was all a blur. i touched my face. yeah, still me. i didn’t appear disfigured at all. nor was i a duchess. or a bull rider. note to self: when under the influence of controlled substances, it’s probably not a good idea to keep the tv on the lifetime channel–all night long.
breakfast (in the form of liquids) was brought to me by celangela. seriously, i can’t make this shit up. “breakfast” consisted of jello, tea, beef broth, and a popsicle. can i just say that beef broth is just wrong. who eats this? well, besides the russians. i smiled at celangela, thanked her for the bountiful feast, pressed the button and closed my eyes again.
when my doctor popped in around 9, she told me what i had heard before. no mangled ovary. in fact, she said i had the prettiest pink ovaries she’d ever seen. ovaries are pink? eewww.
we talked about what to do next and she asked me about the pain. i had to think about it for a minute. i couldn’t exactly tell if i was in pain or not. i was sore, that much was clear, but i had also just had surgery. i told her the meds were so good that i couldn’t tell if i was in pain or not–and then i asked her why the room was starting to spin. she laughed (i’m telling you, i’m hilarious), said she’d ordered some more tests and that i would see her the next day. and to not hesitate to press the button. so i pressed it in her honor and closed my eyes again.
later, my cell phone rang. although, i didn’t realize it at the time. in my drug induced sleep i thought it was a bee, buzzing around my head. i opened my eyes, saw the glow of the screen on the phone and picked it up. i answered, “hello?”
“mom,” you ok?
“who is this?” i asked.
“it’s riley.”
“who?”
“RILEY. your daughter?”
“i’m sorry. you must have the wrong number. i don’t have a daughter named riley. i have a shetland pony named mrs. wigglesworth.”
“MOM!”
“huh?”
i sat up in the bed and looked around the room. where was i?
“mom? you there?”
“yes. i’m here. what happened?”
“mom, it’s riley. i’m at school. i’m going to the cafeteria. i just wanted to make sure you were ok.”
“oh riley. my baby. how are you? you ok?”
and then i started sobbing.
“mom, i gotta go. i just wanted to tell you i hope you feel better.”
sniffing, “send whataburger. with cheese. no tomato. and fries. no, make that onion rings.”
“mom, i gotta go. love you.”
and then she hung up.
i pressed the button and fell asleep again. some time later (who’s keeping track of time? i barely know my name!) i woke up to find tommy sitting across from me, whataburger bag in hand. awww. he’d come through for me. he really did love me. i didn’t bother asking the questions i should have–like “when did you get home? how are you? how are the kids? when do i get to go home?” no. i looked in the bag and said, “no ketchup?”
i practically inhaled the food in one disgustingly non-delicate/ladylike fashion.
what? the girl was hungry.
after eating every last french fry and licking the salt off the bottom of the bag, i decided against pressing the button again for awhile. i needed to know what was going on with me and that required my being sober.
turns out i had been to ex ray and had a ct scan earlier that day. the likely culprit of my pain? a small blood clot in my abdominal wall–a side effect from having that tummy tuck last year. huh.
you know what? still. totally. worth. it.
i mean, have you SEEN how flat my stomach is?
it’s good to be home.
