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Friday, April 14, 2017

Three Days In

It’s Good Friday – aren’t they all though? More gooder still – I found my pirate patch. As long as I’m one eyed, I may as well be stylin’, eh?

Things are going reasonably fine here in Recovery World with one smallish glitch. The morning after cutterage, I popped my usual vitamins and took a shot of my QVAR inhaler (I have mild asthma). As I trundled downstairs to give Coco brekkie and find my coffee substitute (beloved bev ixnayed because it’s hot AND acidic. Yes, I had a BIG sad), I noticed an odd taste in my mouth. What could that robust, not terribly pleasant, fruity flavor be?

Oh…blood. A lot of blood. I went to the kitchen sink and ran water around my skull cave. Wouldn't cold water stop the flow? Not so much, no. The vampire bait continued to splash out.
An aside: the stainless sink looks nice with a red tint.
 Jen, who’d stayed the night, walked into the kitchen at that point.

I fed Coco and, unrelated, I’m bleeding a lot and it won’t stop,
I sez to her.

She handed me small wads of paper towel and told me to apply direct pressure. I did and in a few minutes the Red Sea quit. Yea but geez that was nerve-wracking. Later, Jen allowed that I was pretty funny – she said that, when I announced my little hemorrhage-y condition, I was totally calm. More like I was sharing some mundane bit like toast’s up or eggs’re ready.

This seems to be a thing for me – calm in the face of scary shit. Oni told me that I was like that on the day The Amazing Bob died, the first time. Huh. Go figure. No one, not even me, would expect this given my usual fluorescent stylings.

Jen checked with my doc – is the steroid in the inhaler flaying my post op gob? No, his nurse said that I probably just opened my mouth too wide/too soon. Huh. My post op instructions did NOT say that I had to shut up for a few days (though, given my Chatty Cathy habits, I imagine the team totally thought it).

It’s now day three in Healingville and my mouth feels rough but OK – no more claret floods. The no coffee edict proved just too much for me though. (Hi, my name is Donna and I’m a java addict) When I came downstairs this morning, I magicked up a pot of Italian Roast and, making sure it was tepid, not steaming, I took a sip. HUZZAH! No blood, no fireworks, I’m AOK.

Recup and rehab are happening things. Good! As nifty keen, slick-o cool as my current piratical look is, I'm SO looking forward to having two eyes once more. Of fucking course!

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