I Got My Date

Next Friday. The tenth. That’s when Doc Barker’s gonna slice into my bean and take out that obese, rottwellian eggplant that’s cluttering my skull and making the business of living life an onerous challenge.

I can’t wait. That is, I’m VERY much looking forward to getting this over with. Done. Finito.

I’ve got a lot of brill support – Ten, Jen, Oni, Hillel, Paula and Celeste.

What can you say to a person who’s just told you they’re gonna have major, brain opening surgery in seven days? What can you say to a bomb of news like that? Ya gotta say something – if you don't offer some words, you run the risk of being seen as cold, callous and uncaring or as a self-obsessed assholian twat.

What to say is actually easy.
“Wow” and “I don’t know what to say” are perfectly acceptable responses. Of course they are! I don’t expect Obama-esque pearls of wisdom or Oprah-ish emeralds of empathy. “Wow” and “I don’t know what to say” aren’t conversation killers – they’re openers, the equivalent of appetizers for the main convo.

Also, believe me, I’ll have things to say – snippets, volumes, convoluted rambles and/or quips depending on how well I know you and my mood at the mo.

Feel free to offer a full-throated “well, doesn’t THIS just blow monstro bantha wang?!” See, not only is this an accurate assessment of the sitch, you will have made me smile or laugh. This being all ideal and shit.

If you live in the Valhalla area, have ability and inclination, you could ask “how can I help?” I’ll probably just shrug and suggest bringing me an order of Fusion Kitchen's brill spicy string beans once I get home from MGH-land. Pretty sure that’s precisely what’s called for in a standard brain surgery recovery.

Now then, what do I actually need RIGHT now? Some zentastic calm.

(And good fucking luck with that now that our desperate, criminal prez has decided to murderously wag the dog, endanger the nation and destroy even more lives.)

If not for the big expense, I’d zoom off to the Silica for a coupla days. It's the ultimate in stress release. This'd be a convenient time to be wealthy. Oopsie, I forgot to do that!

It occurs to me that there are hotels which feature in-room hot tubs. No, I can’t go all floaty in a jacuzzi and the water’s not infused with all those happy minerals but still – a relaxing, possibly even chimerical treat.

I’m cataloging the myriad pre-op appointments in my calendar now. I'm noting things I gotta (or want to) get done before I’m outta commission for a few weeks and making a question list for the kind medicos (how soon can I go back to the gym? can I do rehab at home with visiting rehabbers or do I have to be inpatient? how long before I can travel/fly? will the murderous Treasonweasel Crime Family please be vanquished by the time I’m sent home?).

I’m prepping, making ready.