It will be two weeks tommorrow from the day I cheerfully submitted myself to an anesthetic stupor and surgical maiming. And you know, the doctor really wasn't kidding about the two to three week recovery period.
I thought, sure, whatever. I've shrugged off being hit by a bus and have uprooted trees with my bare hands. I'll be back to normal in two or three days, and then use the sick time to build some kind of feckless robot servant. Alas, not the case. The trick about getting healthy, it seems, is that you are required to sleep and eat. When everything goes down like a spoonful of razor blades, you not only don't want to eat, your nervous system won't let you. Also, it turns out the only thing keeping my tongue from lolling back into my throat and suffocating me while I sleep was the presence of my gargantuan tonsils. I didn't know that. It's the sort of thing you don't find out until those tonsils have been plucked out and suffocation forces you awake every hour, swimming in a nauseating hypoxic delirium.
So, basically, no water + no food + no sleep = uncomfortable descent into death. It's nasty.
Worse still, when your diet consists only of equal parts blood, Percocet and phlegm, the brain, she does not work. It's still not really working, even though I am now at least on a steady diet of pot pie puree. And phlegm.
I thought, sure, whatever. I've shrugged off being hit by a bus and have uprooted trees with my bare hands. I'll be back to normal in two or three days, and then use the sick time to build some kind of feckless robot servant. Alas, not the case. The trick about getting healthy, it seems, is that you are required to sleep and eat. When everything goes down like a spoonful of razor blades, you not only don't want to eat, your nervous system won't let you. Also, it turns out the only thing keeping my tongue from lolling back into my throat and suffocating me while I sleep was the presence of my gargantuan tonsils. I didn't know that. It's the sort of thing you don't find out until those tonsils have been plucked out and suffocation forces you awake every hour, swimming in a nauseating hypoxic delirium.
So, basically, no water + no food + no sleep = uncomfortable descent into death. It's nasty.
Worse still, when your diet consists only of equal parts blood, Percocet and phlegm, the brain, she does not work. It's still not really working, even though I am now at least on a steady diet of pot pie puree. And phlegm.
Try Sprite. It's liquid.
It's also acidic, so it may sting, but if you let it go flat before you drink it, it could work.
Posted by: Q | March 03, 2008 at 04:41 PM
Eeeew.
Posted by: Enna Isilee | March 03, 2008 at 08:41 PM
The tongue lolling: not a pretty picture.
But still - I hope you feel better soon...even if recovery won't occur in the short 2-3 days you hoped for... :)
Posted by: Bohae | March 04, 2008 at 02:11 AM
I don't really have to ask. The offending tonsils are floating in a little jar of formaldehyde on your nightstand aren't they?
Posted by: franticallysimple | March 04, 2008 at 07:26 AM
His tonsils wouldn't fit in a "little" jar of anything. The beasts actually kidnapped me one night and held me for ransome for three weeks.
This bit of tom-foolery was one of the reasons Dean took so long to get rid of them.
Feel better, large man. If you kids need any help, you have my number.
Posted by: Marcus Aurelius | March 04, 2008 at 10:51 AM
Actually, I hope your healing process continues to lag. This delirium you find yourself in has produced higher than average levels of humorous output, which works for me.
Posted by: Carson | March 04, 2008 at 08:50 PM
So that explains my mysterious kidnapping by tonsils! (Or maybe in my delirium after my own surgery, I imagined the horrid things in the jar by the couch were taking me.)
I hope you feel better, at the least. Lack of tonsils really bites.
(Hey. That was almost punny.)
Don't die in your sleep, either. It's not as pleasant as it sounds.
Posted by: Burning | March 10, 2008 at 01:57 PM