openings
Its difficult to say why one should feel like they are recovering from something when one did not have actual surgery, well, not for nearly two months now. But this morning left me feeling a little emotionally dented. Its my 30th birthday, but really, I'm trying not dwell on that seeing as this day has been shit from even before I went to bed last night.
Last night I (yes, foolishly!) decided to do some reading about my condition. And treatment. Oh those Damn Internets! What a fucking horrible place for one with a hole in the wrong place and questions on the lips. I sat in slack-jawed wonder reading tales of really horrible things happening to people with the the same condition as I. Went to bed puffy-eyed and shaking, and eventually slept, dreaming of hundreds of strangers ransacking my parents house and flooding rooms in the name of "partying". This, little did I know, mirrored the party that this day has been. I went to the doctor this morning, whereupon I waited nearly two hours before I was seen. Inflated with grotesque notions, he played some of them out for me and the fears came back and I got slightly hysterical and then he joked about calling my boyfriend "my fiancé" and I wanted to punch him. And then he told me I would have to see yet another specialist. A colorectal surgeon character. And further did I fill with joy till I narry burst. Describing with a sketch, the wheres and hows of all the things I never wished to imagine being cut and rearranged, they were all there in ballpoint ink before me.
So I made an appointment to see the Ass Doctor. Next week. Just to chat and sign consent forms, as Ass Doctor and Special Crotch Doctor will be ganging up on me for surgery together, hopefully before the end of September. Special diet forthcoming. More antibiotics. 6 weeks to recover. Blah blah. Bah.
copper age © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
I'm terrified of missing a lot of work. Of things not healing. It coming back. The word mutilation. That is me up there, scowling or looking tough or something. On Monday. When I didn't feel tough at all. Actually I think under the hair I look like a wuss. Probably.
There are still a few hours left to this day. Mr. Dust is taking me for Korean. He hates Korean. But I love it and I need to stock up on spicy for while I can still eat solid things of any description. And there will be ice cream. I hear it makes almost everything better. Remaining hopeful of that.
Last night I (yes, foolishly!) decided to do some reading about my condition. And treatment. Oh those Damn Internets! What a fucking horrible place for one with a hole in the wrong place and questions on the lips. I sat in slack-jawed wonder reading tales of really horrible things happening to people with the the same condition as I. Went to bed puffy-eyed and shaking, and eventually slept, dreaming of hundreds of strangers ransacking my parents house and flooding rooms in the name of "partying". This, little did I know, mirrored the party that this day has been. I went to the doctor this morning, whereupon I waited nearly two hours before I was seen. Inflated with grotesque notions, he played some of them out for me and the fears came back and I got slightly hysterical and then he joked about calling my boyfriend "my fiancé" and I wanted to punch him. And then he told me I would have to see yet another specialist. A colorectal surgeon character. And further did I fill with joy till I narry burst. Describing with a sketch, the wheres and hows of all the things I never wished to imagine being cut and rearranged, they were all there in ballpoint ink before me.
So I made an appointment to see the Ass Doctor. Next week. Just to chat and sign consent forms, as Ass Doctor and Special Crotch Doctor will be ganging up on me for surgery together, hopefully before the end of September. Special diet forthcoming. More antibiotics. 6 weeks to recover. Blah blah. Bah.
copper age © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
I'm terrified of missing a lot of work. Of things not healing. It coming back. The word mutilation. That is me up there, scowling or looking tough or something. On Monday. When I didn't feel tough at all. Actually I think under the hair I look like a wuss. Probably.
There are still a few hours left to this day. Mr. Dust is taking me for Korean. He hates Korean. But I love it and I need to stock up on spicy for while I can still eat solid things of any description. And there will be ice cream. I hear it makes almost everything better. Remaining hopeful of that.
posted by helveticaneue at 5:44 PM
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6 Comments:
Dear me. I am so sorry you are having to go through this. I wish you could just have your body back to how you want it.
I love your work and find inspiration in your photos and words. I'm pulling for a smooth meeting with the doctors and a very helpful, uncomplicated surgery.
thanks ms. lily for your kind words. I hope by thanksgiving, I should have my self back and all too thankful for it. Fingers, toes, legs and eyes crossed.
I've been following your story, and I'm sorry to hear how you've been treated by the medical community. I work in that community, and can confirm most people's worst fears about medicine. At the same time, I've met some fantastic people who just happen to be doctors. I pray that you have the most talented physical technicians do their best work for you.
Thank you for continuing to express yourself so publicly, both in picture and word. I admire your ability to weave a little dark humor in with your descriptions of what are obviously horrible scenarios. A lot of folks would have folded, a long time back. You keep shooting, and that is true bravery. I'll keep looking, reading, and wishing the very best of health for you.
mr. ben, thank you for checking in on me and your kind wishes. It is interesting having perspectives from people on the inside of the medical world. Having never really heavily relied upon the medical community before, this experience has certainly been an eye-opener in many ways. There are things I feel I can talk about but the specifics will never be mapped out here. Its a fine line and I am glad someone thinks I am walking it with some grace and humor.
I can only hope things go more smoothly for you from now on Laura. I wish there was something I could do to help you.
(Sending strength and healing your way....)
((hugs))
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