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The Trick Is To Keep Breathing

Things are a bit up in the air.

Dr. Marcos, my newest neurosurgeon who I just met last month, was sent to Mayo Clinic in NY due to some secret severe illness (Mad Cow disease, perhaps?) he has and ordered to cancel all of his upcoming operations -including mine on the 31st.

His office didn't notify us of the emergency until late Friday afternoon- just 4 days before I was scheduled to go in. After receiving the news, for a good 15 minutes everything was at a standstill. Like Tyra Banks running out of Twinkies, I was freaking out a bit. As much I seriously DO NOT WANT to undergo this surgery, Telischi couldnt emphasize enough how much I needed it done as soon as possible. Things are already very bad: drooling worse than a dehydrated bloodhound, stumbling like an drunk old man exiting a bar, and choking on my favorite Easter season candy, jellybeans. The longer I wait the greater my chances are of quickly becoming worse. This is super-duper important. This is Angeling Jolie/Marlon Wayans box office opening weekend big.

After a while things were eventually sorted out, kind of. Since Marcos will be tied up with his own medical predicament, I will have his partner, who is ironically and encouragingly named Heros, doing his dirty work on me hopefully this Thursday, April 2nd. Nothing has been confirmed though but nothing has been cancelled: just postponed. A big bittersweet sigh of relief. Having the extra 2 days is actually a bit of a good thing, now I'll be able to catch Real World finale Wednesday night. That Ryan is adorable -a little too pretty but adorable nonetheless. He can fight the war in the cave of my dangerous desert anyday.I need a soldier.

As you couldn't have guessed I'm a bit of a hospital whore. I've been around the block more than a few times. Through the years, I've slept around at plenty of different places. But this will be my first time as a Jackson Memorial patient and I don't know what to expect: Kool Aid IVs, Rainbow Brite bedsheets, a Salvador Dali themed recovery room? No se and that leaves me a little uneasy. I actually went in for my pre-op last week and the place was dirty, unwelcoming and practically dilapidated. It was a major turnoff. It might as well be dressed in jorts, masturbating to anime cartoons and aspiring to be the next American Idol.

This will also be my first operation with Telishci and Heros. First impressions are lasting impressions and god dammit I need to shave. I haven't done so since Feb 12 and because of low-energy levels, laziness and not wanting to miss Wife Swap on TV, even then I didn't do that good of a job. My legs are growing vines and my cooch is completely out of control. Chi-chi-Chia. I always want to look my best while I'm unconscious, but there's a lot of danger involved performing such an act as shaving. Armed with a razor in an already slippery environment; with my extreme imbalance there's a good chance of sliding and accidentally slitting my wrists.

I don't know what I'm going to do. Time is ticking. I might just leave a Post-It inches below my navel that will read: You know where you are? You're in the JUNGLE, baby. You're gonna die!

As I've mentioned before, my fear with this operation isn't in the operation itself, but the outcome of it all. I'm going to wake up in complete silence and that terrifies me. I'm afraid it will have such a negative impact on my life that it will change me completely: my sense of humor, my dwindling light.

I don't know how I will react from it all. I may live in a rut, shun myself from society and stop talking all together. Who knows? But I do know the future is grim and uncertain.

I have my anxieties and the other week I was so hopeful after seeking counseling from Dr. V, so when I returned to therapy last Monday I was completely letdown after 30 minutes of nothing. Last time I was there I poured my heart out and said everything that needed to be said, so at this appointment I was expecting to get to work. These are my problems, how do I get better? Give me some feedback, an exercise, anything. Nothing. So stupid and pointless. The owls dont do it for me anymore.

I descided to give Ricardo a second chance and that proved to be a very good idea. I'm just bouncing back and forth off these dudes. At this meeting I came prepared with my list of worries and what I needed help with, in order not to be overcome with my emotions. He was probably scratching his head thinking, "Who is this girl?" because I was totally a different person from the last time I saw him. Yeah, I'm a schizo.

I love it when I let my guard down and can be myself around people. Never shy or stubbornly silent, but silly witty me. I'm so glad I let him in because he provided exactly what I asked for. I needed some tips to best prepare for D-day since I'm such a loose cannon of anxiety and he gave me wonderful exercises to help me, like stimulating other senses, practing and preparing waking up at recovery and better breathing techniques to calm my panic attacks. He understood the shock I'll soon be facing and was so helpful. I wasvso relieved that I got the help at the nick of time. I left with a happy heart but I'm still terrified.

I just saw this commercial. Someone's been reading my diary. I can take a hint :


Mar. 31st, 2009 03:27 pm (UTC)
Thank you so much, Potato Cakes!!

You're absolutely right, Jackson is totally ghetto but I try not to judge...too much..maybe it'll take me back to my roots.

Girl, Ive never had cancer but I did have radiation treatments done last year at UM Sylvester Center and it is SO NICE! Fancy-schmancy.(Kimora Lee, who?) You forget why you're there. Plus my oncologist looked like Jon Antin. Did you and your mom by any chance have Nurse Jenny? She was the nicest sweetest lady that I will always remember.

Hairy pits, how French. Oui Oui

Ahh I love surprises. Youre killing me. My address is 9311 NW 20 St Pembroke Pines, FL 33024 No letter bombs, please
Mar. 31st, 2009 03:55 pm (UTC)
The couple of times my mom went by Sylvester, I wasn't with her. Iris' mom was. I had work and school :p

ROFFLES! John Antin! I don't even think he's human anymore. Prolly made of the same stuff like those chicks from Death Becomes Her.

Well I am trying to be more European. All I need is a beret, pencil thin mustache a la John Waters, and a cigarette holder.

Btw, one of my mom's nurses turned out to be my cousin's boyfriend's mother. RANDOM!

Nah nah nothing unabomber style, my dear.