Thursday, September 27, 2007

Rosie's Adventure

Today: Those are Rosie's legs. And she's wearing the silky jammie bottoms Miss Hawthorne gave her. I lllllloooooovvvve yoooouuuuu, lllllittlllle Miss Hawthorne! Heh, llllittllle Miss Hawthorne's name starts with LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL.

Why on earth would Rosie be relaxing in the middle of the day when she has so much work to do?

I believe Percocet might be involved.

And lookie lookie.
SandyLoo is on TV.

Doesn't look good, does it folks?

Talk about getting over the hump of the week that is Wednesday.

Warning: This will be long and meandering and at times disillusional and delusional, all due to my possibly being under the influence of a Schedule II controlled substance.

Here it is, 4:23 AM on Thursday and, unable to sleep, I am penning my thoughts to paper for later blogging.

Wednesday started out as usual. Ed showed up at 7:30 and continued painting window frames and doors, which is time consuming work since he has to take off all the hardware.

The rest of the extra maple we had ordered arrived Tuesday, so Floorman and Floorman's cousin arrived early to finish the hall closet and the rest of the hall back to my daughter's bedroom.

My two electricians showed up to continue wiring stuff, putting on new face plates, and installing under-the-counter light fixtures with rheostats.

Everything seemed to be going quite smoothly. Mr. Hawthorne had made a nice breakfast for us- bacon, aig, and cheese sandwiches. He's learned to scramble aigs in the microwave.

Now, let me digress. Tuesday afternoon when we were running errands, I was feeling a slight pain in my stomach. At the time, I attributed it to the seatbelt pushing the button on my britches INto my bellybutton. I know, sounds stupid, but at the time, it was working for me.

OK. Fast forward to Wednesday. I'm a happy camper with all my happy lllllittlllle workers toiling away in my happy llllittllle home.

Well, gosh darn it! That pesky pain in my stomach is still there and it is increasing in strength through the morning. Nope, don't think a mere button was responsible for this. The pain is in my navel and when I go to palpate said navel, I find a hard lump that - OUCH - is very sensitive. I add at this point: never try to self-diagnose from the internet. Just don't.

As the morning progressed, so did my pain. I finally asked Mr. Hawthorne to take me to the Medical Center since I thought I had an umbilical hernia. I finally see Dr S. after waiting maybe 1/2 hour. She's not sure what it is because it's so hard and painful and you can usually move and push a hernia back in, and this one you couldn't do that with. She says, "Hold on, let me make you an appointment with Dr. R. I said, "No, I won't see Dr. R., but I will see Dr. J." Dr. J. did my son's hernia 2 years ago and I liked him. Well, she tells me that Dr. J. is in surgery all day and she wants me to see Dr. R. immediately. I tell Dr. S. to find me another doctor because one of my neighbors went to Dr. R. for a lump in her breast and now she has one deformed breast thanks to Dr. R. I'm standing firm on this one.

Finally, Dr. S. says she'll call down at the Outer Banks hospital for an appointment with a different Dr. S. She tells me, in the meantime to go home and rest and relax (yeah, right) and not to eat or drink anything until after seeing this Dr. S. at the hospital, who is a surgeon.
I give her my home phone and cell numbers. This does not bode well.

I leave the office, shaken, but unbowed. Since we're up at that end of the beach - Mile Post 1, I tell Mr. H. to drive to Home Depot so we can return the unuseable lights we bought the other day. Then we go back to my little island to wait for a phone call from Dr. S.

We drive south to about the 7 Mile Post, then turn west, to go 5 miles home. Now, my cell rings. It's my daughter calling and crying because she had a light bulb burn out and the lady at the rental office was mean and rude to her. I had to let Mr. H. field this call since I had more pressing matters weighing on my mind. I have to tell him to switch to use his cell, not mine, since if the call came through from the doctor, he wouldn't know how to switch lines. Half a mile from home, Dr. S. calls and says to go immediately to the hospital to see the new Dr. S. So we go back the 5 miles East to the main drag and go down to the 17 Mile Post to the hospital and get there about 1:30.

I wait for what seems like forever. I did the crossword puzzle, the cryptoquip, the word jumble, and the Sudoku, thumbed through 2 North Carolina Today magazines (beautiful photography, by the way), browse through 1 National Geographic, a Martha Stewart Living, and stopped short of O Magazine. Because, just NO. Instead, I get up to study the Anatomy charts on the wall, where something really, really bad is wrong with every freakin' organ in this guy's body and it scares me and I'm thinking maybe I should have read O.

Finally Dr. S. comes in, feels my navel, and promptly says I have an umbilical hernia. (Thank you first Dr. S. That was $105 for her not to know what it was, when that's what I said it was when I went in.) But then, I'm not a doctor, so what the hell do I know?

My "option" he says is surgery. Now, I ask you, is it an option when there's only one scenario offered? Then he says, "When do you want to do this ... tomorrow ... ?" I hesitate. He says " ... now?" I says OK because I don't want to think about it any longer than I have to and I want it over and done with and not have to worry any more than I already have.

To make a long story even longer, I'm wheeled INto surgery about 3:30.

Damn, I'm gonna miss Oprah!

Oh, those nurses are absofuckinlutely wonderful. Patti said she'd stay with me the whole time, from start to finish. She put heated blankets on me (It's cold in there.) and just held my hand and rubbed my legs. I'm looking at the array of sharp instruments lying on the table to the side and the huge lights above me. I explained to her that really wasn't a tear dribbling down from the corner of my eye. I just had a lot of extra water in my eyes. Yeah, allergies, that's it.


Next thing I know, I'm in the recovery room and it's about 5PM. Mr. H and littlest Hawthorne come in about 5:15. Awwww, littlest Hawthorne was worried about his Mommie.

We got home a little after 6 and I took my Percocet for the pain and just chilled for a while. Watched Dancing with the Stars, then went to bed. Alas, I could not sleep. I could hardly hold my eyes open, but I could not go to sleep. I can't sleep on my back under normal circumstances, and usually I turn like a rotisserie chicken. It hurt too much to turn over, so I just propped pillows up and watched TV. All. Night. Long.

Let's see, there was the Andy Griffith Show, Will and Grace, Frasier, Jeff Foxworthy, Leno, Letterman, and of course Paris Hilton was in the mix. My favorite television viewings last night were Dr. 90210 and Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. Boob jobs and more boob jobs.

Finally at 4:03 AM, the garbage truck came by. At 4:17, I noticed lights outside and heard a big truck, so I looked out the window and there's a truck at the construction site next door. It was the shit-sucker truck taking care of the porta-potty. At 4:17 AM.

I started writing at 4:23 AM and now it's 5:09 and I'm wide awake. Did you know Dr. Shill is on at 5 in the morning? A Shirley Temple movie is on too, with her singing "Animal Crackers in my Soup." Looks like she's in an orphanage. I think the movie is "Curly Top."

The rest of the TV programming consists of 2 Aerobionic(?) Garden infomercials, 3 Colon Cleanser infomercials, several vacuum cleaner infomercials with a few Girls Gone Wild thrown in, 2 Magic Bullet infomercials (BTW, I own one and love it.), 4 weight loss and 5 body building infocommercials on, 2 fishing programs, and QVC and 4 other shopping channels. Oooh boy, this is the programming at 5 in the morning.

Oh great! I'm happy now. There's an Andy Griffith on. It's the one with Rafe Hollister singing "Lonesome Road" and "Riding on that New River Train." I settle for Andy, Opie, Aunt Bee, Barney, Floyd, and Gomer. Thank goodness for TVLand.

If you made it this far, thanks for bearing with me. As you have probably guessed, I might still be under the influence of a Schedule II substance.

"Short for weblog.
A meandering, blatantly uninteresting online diary that gives the author the illusion that people are interested in their stupid, pathetic life. Consists of such riveting entries as "homework sucks" and 'I slept until noon today.' "

Thanks for the illusions.

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