Let’s get Morbid

I got my date. The old bean’s gonna be cracked open AGAIN next Friday, the 19th. I’ll be in hospital for a week, more or less — depending on how things go. After that, I’ll hit a rehab joint for two weeks to a month, again, depending on how shit flows.

Despite this all being expected news, it still hit me hard. No longer a potential reality but a definite, immediate future. My first reaction, aside from morosely sitting in bed, was to make a list of all I gotta get done, such as:

1. Do all my tax prep and send it off to the preparers
2. Update my will and have my legal dude make the amendments happen
3. Make sure all my bills that can be paid now, are. Arrange it so Jen can pay the ones which come in over the next month. Why?

• NO one wants tp pay bills from a hospital bed
• What if I don’t live through this (Yes, that Hole album is in my head now)? I don’t need late fees coldly sucked out of my dead self. Yeah, if I die, who the fuck cares? ME, I’m not gonna get fucked over by some rude-ass corporation just ‘cause I had the misfortune of farm purchasing.
  

In case I don’t make it home?

Make sure the cats are taken care of

Make sure Ten, Jen and Oni will be OK

Clean out my damn closet and dressers. There’s so much that I don’t wear anymore because:

• Gotta lose 10 more pounds (a constant refrain)
• I just don’t go to fancy places anymore
• How much tie dye does one woman REALLY need to own!?
• This would really look MUCH better on Celeste!

Yup, I’m in a mega morbid frame of mind. While I DO want to be prepared for all eventualities. I don’t need to focus on the ultimate goodbye.

I asked Jen, “am I always like this before big surgeries.” Apparently, yes. Goddamn, I’m fun! I only mention it BUT, considering the number of big fucking-ass slice ups I’ve had in the past year and a half alone, I’d of thought I’d be all out of loose ends and shit to plan. Nope.

I gotta shake myself out of this melancholy mood but how?  I seem to NEED to plan/be in motion. OK, fine. For starters, I can prep for being deaf in MGH Land and Rehab World. Instead of snark-ass words/cards about what deaf means (in my particular case) and how lipreading is NOT a get out of communication hell card (for nurses and interns) I can come up with a diplomatic short list of best, most effective ways to communicate with me ESPECIALLY in these masked up days.

The undiplomatic semi-snark versio

I can start with how pantomime is your friend and go on to suggesting Live Transcribe (for NON iPhone users) or just opening a Notes doc and speaking into the mic. I can also bring pad and pen in my hospital bag and just hand those to the staff.

Considering how long I’ll be in, maybe I should get Jen to print up 100 of these suckers?

Here at home, I believe I'll go through my sock drawer today — pull out all the ones with holes. As much as I intend to darn them, let’s face it, that ain’t gonna happen. Jen’s found a place which recycles cloth. Dunno what they do with it — resell as material for masks or funky, cool clothes? Plus there’s another place that takes shoes. It’ll be nice to come home to a  more tidy, cleaned out space.

Another thought — maybe it’s time to lose myself in the boob tube. Ten has suggested bringing the telly up here to the boudoir. I can binge watch old eps of Big Bang and Star Trek.

So, planning/doing but not focusing on death. This MAY just work!