wrinkle in time
Before I got better, everything had to get a bit worse. Last time I showed my face around here, I thought I was on the upswing, however flu and an ear infection had to have their way with me, pushing up my exam under anaesthesia up another week, as I was still coursing with antibiotics. In desperate need of a bit of air, Shanners, Mr. D, Daniel and I revived me by trucking me out for an afternoon of tacos and public abandonment at Eastern State Penitentiary two weekends back.
guard © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
As Shanners is set to be photographed by myself and Mr. D at her wedding in 2008, we are priming her for being un-shy about having her portrait taken. So we took some stabs at her, and she left standing.
prisoner © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
This week was marked with the excitement of finally checking into the hospital to have myself examined by a doctor who knows what he is doing. Hospitals used to terrify me, despite the fact that both of my parents have in past worke and again now work in hospitals and health care. Some point in the past two decades I have managed to mellow out. Perhaps it was the outrageous French anaetheseologist. Or perhaps it was the fact that my brain went numb after they drew all the blood and made me pee in one too many cups. 16 hours after I had last consumed food or beverage, I went into a state of extreme calm , lulled by the one television playing reruns of Emeril and Rachael Ray, dazzling me with foods I silently was able to fantasize about but not eat.
Fortunately my modesty left with the first round of sedatives, seeing as when they rolled me into the operating room, there were no less than 10 people present. It was only the next day that I realized that the audience contained there in, was privy to my privates in all their unhappy glory. When I regained consciousness approximately an hour later, I started weeping uncontrollably for no reason I could determine. The nurse told me that happens quite a bit. The Hot Doctor strode out while I was still puffing and flustered, announcing the confirmation that I indeed have what we thought I had and that my fiancé had been called to collect me. In between the tears I started laughing that I really must have been busy to have gone and gotten myself a fiancé while I was knocked out, cos when I went under he was just my boyfriend. And then I cried some more. Underneath it all I was most worried because when my man and I parted ways, he was under the assumption I would only be away two hours, and then I would be back on the road home. Now five plus hours later, I was not yet standing and still connected to IV and monitors. This was most worrisome to me. I had also deprived Mr. D of his parking ticket, thinking I could get it validated.
I was deposited in my own private hospital room, ass flapping out the back of my gown, nibbling on graham crackers and in strode Mr. D to pour me ginger ale on ice. Never has soda tasted so good. I started crying again, apologizing for having him stuck there for almost six hours running now.
After drinking a bit, my strength and hunger returned in mostly full force. We started pressing buttons until we got a nurse to come in and take out my IV and then we made a break for the hospital cafeteria who could only serve us rice mysteries or cheesesteaks. No contest. With fries.
sargasso © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
Now up to speed, I continue building walls and plotting plots to unleash when I am feeling my whole self. I've had some other possibly bad news, but I am waiting for confirmation. I've also been asked to have one of my photos appear in a design book being published next year which is nice. My 30th birthday is on Wednesday and I am planning on being a Libra this year instead of a Virgo so that I will feel more celebratory and mended for the big day, rather than a frail old lump. Gotta start things off on the right foot. Or the left, whichever seems most natural.
craft © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
guard © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
As Shanners is set to be photographed by myself and Mr. D at her wedding in 2008, we are priming her for being un-shy about having her portrait taken. So we took some stabs at her, and she left standing.
prisoner © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
This week was marked with the excitement of finally checking into the hospital to have myself examined by a doctor who knows what he is doing. Hospitals used to terrify me, despite the fact that both of my parents have in past worke and again now work in hospitals and health care. Some point in the past two decades I have managed to mellow out. Perhaps it was the outrageous French anaetheseologist. Or perhaps it was the fact that my brain went numb after they drew all the blood and made me pee in one too many cups. 16 hours after I had last consumed food or beverage, I went into a state of extreme calm , lulled by the one television playing reruns of Emeril and Rachael Ray, dazzling me with foods I silently was able to fantasize about but not eat.
Fortunately my modesty left with the first round of sedatives, seeing as when they rolled me into the operating room, there were no less than 10 people present. It was only the next day that I realized that the audience contained there in, was privy to my privates in all their unhappy glory. When I regained consciousness approximately an hour later, I started weeping uncontrollably for no reason I could determine. The nurse told me that happens quite a bit. The Hot Doctor strode out while I was still puffing and flustered, announcing the confirmation that I indeed have what we thought I had and that my fiancé had been called to collect me. In between the tears I started laughing that I really must have been busy to have gone and gotten myself a fiancé while I was knocked out, cos when I went under he was just my boyfriend. And then I cried some more. Underneath it all I was most worried because when my man and I parted ways, he was under the assumption I would only be away two hours, and then I would be back on the road home. Now five plus hours later, I was not yet standing and still connected to IV and monitors. This was most worrisome to me. I had also deprived Mr. D of his parking ticket, thinking I could get it validated.
I was deposited in my own private hospital room, ass flapping out the back of my gown, nibbling on graham crackers and in strode Mr. D to pour me ginger ale on ice. Never has soda tasted so good. I started crying again, apologizing for having him stuck there for almost six hours running now.
After drinking a bit, my strength and hunger returned in mostly full force. We started pressing buttons until we got a nurse to come in and take out my IV and then we made a break for the hospital cafeteria who could only serve us rice mysteries or cheesesteaks. No contest. With fries.
sargasso © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
Now up to speed, I continue building walls and plotting plots to unleash when I am feeling my whole self. I've had some other possibly bad news, but I am waiting for confirmation. I've also been asked to have one of my photos appear in a design book being published next year which is nice. My 30th birthday is on Wednesday and I am planning on being a Libra this year instead of a Virgo so that I will feel more celebratory and mended for the big day, rather than a frail old lump. Gotta start things off on the right foot. Or the left, whichever seems most natural.
craft © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
Labels: abandoned, daniel, design, dustin, health, philly, photography, shannon, venting
posted by helveticaneue at 9:56 PM
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3 Comments:
the crying thing happened to both of my sisters after anesthesia, but thankfully not to me. all i wanted or could think about was pizza.
it was creepy and made me panic a little, like my body must have remebered something happened that I didn't consciously know about.
my rather narrow experience of anesthesia usually leaves me with a powerful urge to laugh my ass off. Leave it to you to go in the opposite direction. You could call me one of these days and tell me how it went, though not shortly before any mealtimes. Your brother just finished a draft for his first complete dissertation chapter, and is nursing the resulting bourbon-and-tobacco hangover.
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