Saturday, March 31, 2007


I survived. I'm a survivor. Eye of the Tiger and all that.

I set off today to get me some soo-sul. That's what they call torture surgery here. It was minor surgery - but surgery nonetheless. I knew I was going to have it, so I thought about calling my musical partner in my band MOAN, but we parted ways after our first CD had really disappointing sales, and he blamed me for not marketing it heavily enough through fan signings and MTV School Attack appearances. Screw him. He's such a whiner. Turns out I was ready for my solo debut anyhow. I recorded my 1st single today "SHHHIIIITTTT!"

I was ushered into the operating room after the doctor prodded my armpit a bit and Tsk Tsk'd. "Oh!" I remarked, entering the room, "We've gone through a time machine!" I swear the table I was guided to was from the early part of the latter century.

The doctor did give me a couple injections of what was supposed to be anesthesia, but it didn't work well. At all. I whimpered after he cut me open and pressed into me. And I yelped when he cut deeper and seemed to be spreading the incision with his hands and leaning into me. I started to leak at the eyes as well. He cut deeper a couple more times and I really started to protest. I was shaking and sweating and I thought I was going to puke. Most unpleasant. And he wasn't stopping.

So I, being the polite lady that I am, looked at him between wet retchy coughs and sort of shouted, "You have to STOP, Fucker!"
Nice, eh?

I'm no doctor, but I would think that you may want to try a couple more injections to freeze the area you're working on when your patient starts to scream obscenities at you. Did we really step through a time machine? Are you going to stick leeches in me next? Are you going to drill holes in my head to let my demons out? Why do you hate me, Dr. Demento?

Well don't worry about it, because now I hate you too, you medieval prick. Seriously, the guy puts the "med" and the "evil" into medieval.

Now I've got same kind of silky tape covering a pad covering a mass of scrunched up gauze where my armpit used to be. I don't think I have an armpit anymore.

The tray was littered with a very large amount of blood and puss covered gauze when I got up from the table. Oh, and remnants of demons. Armpit demons.

The good news is that the pain medication was pretty decent. I spent about ten minutes in the pharmacy trying to stop crying after I downed my six pills, but I wasn't very successful. I spent another ten minutes splashing cold water on my face in the bathroom at work. Then I spent another ten minutes with my head hanging out the window of an empty classroom trying to get my shit together before I went to teach. Shortly after, the medicine started to kick in and I spent the rest of the day floaty and mellow. As I peaked on pain pills, I bought my students grape and orange Fanta and a couple family sized bags of chips and we laughed over a round-the-table word game together. The breeze floating in the the open classroom window made me feel fiiiiine. Everything was alllllright. I even forgave Dr. Demento.

The bad news is I have to go back in tomorrow to lie on the table and get more torture. He's going to pull out my gauzepit and probably hack me up some more. If he doesn't hook me up with some kind of local anesthesia, though, he's likely to suffer more of my curses and perhaps a kick in the teeth. I'll try to get a picture of the crazy operating room.

I was hurrying this morning to go get my armpit gouged out; I was running late. As I rushed down the hill from my apartment I shrieked a bit when I realized the green leaf fluttering alongside me on the ground was not a leaf at all. It was alive.
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When I stopped, it stopped. And it stayed very still as I reached into my bag and pulled my camera out. Snapping its picture, I tucked my camera back in my pocket and took a couple steps down the hill. The bird moved with me. We both stopped again at the same moment. I was late. I had to go! But, I looked at the bird and it's upturned wing. It was broken.

I had just awoken after an almost sleepless night feeling like I had a hot poker stuck in my armpit. I had just awoken from a dream where I called my mother, and when she asked me what was wrong, I told her I had a broken wing. I couldn't leave the bird on the road to get run over.

"Christ," I muttered, as I stepped toward the bird who immediately decided he didn't want to be my buddy and took off back up the hill. It only took a little while to corner him and pick him up in my hand. I carried him down the hill, rounded the stone wall, and set him down in a garden on the temple grounds at the bottom of the hill. "Stay here," I instructed. "You'll be safer here."

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Magnolias on the temple grounds.


John McCrarey said...

Jesus. You know, there is no excuse for pain during surgery. This is after all the 21st century.

You are a brave woman Jenn. Hope the followup goes better for you.

Hang in there!

sher said...

What a bastard!!! I hope something like that happens to him someday. If he doesn't give you better anesthesia, I hope you scorch his brain with obscenities. Well, punching him out would be good too--but you'd be arrested for assault.

Poor little birdie. That was sweet of you to move it. And kind of ironic that its wing was broken, right after your wing was so mistreated.

Maven said...

What on earth!?!?!?

What was he trying to dig out of you!?