Indignities of Invalid-ism (Pros, Cons, No Coherent Order, Pictures, Beware)

Throwing up, coughing, throwing up, not being able to feel myself swallow before coughing and throwing up so much that cough syrup and two shots of gravol five minutes apart can't stop it and finally, worried about excessive bruising, the doctor just shoots something into your IV to knock you out....

...waking up three hours later with no urge to cough. Or throw up. Or do anything but kiss the doctor.

Writing a note for my mother to take to the library with her so they won't imprison her for using someone else's card.

If there were a God, I know that he would phone me RIGHT NOW and say, "No, Jen, you don't have to wait a week before you can blow your nose, no matter what the doctors say. Blowing your nose will not destroy all their hard work, like they say. In fact, go ahead and blow it RIGHT NOW - long and hard and repeatedly - and everything will be just fine. I promise. You can trust me, I'm God."

The simultaneous and terribly difficult management of the urge to cry when you cannot blow your nose and your eyes are already puffed almost shut and the urge to scream when your throat is raw and your mouth is dry beyond cracking with having to breath through it but the cat has just playfully woken you up as he does all the time by jumping onto the large bruise on your chest and then butting you in the nose with his head.

That the military already (only) wants to know when you will be "fit for duty" - ie: when can we strap 20 pounds on your back, make you run 15 miles and then smack you in the face without it disintegrating?

People build you new steps and put up pretty canopies and fences and flags for you to make you feel better.


Even though the bruises start to fade, the muscles do not like it when you do not move them and consequently, your body freezes and you couldn't move even if you wanted to. But you have to. And it really fucking hurts.


Having to sleep sitting up. Which would be impossible for this belly sleeping girl without the lovely and highly addictive narcotics.

People saying things like..."Welcome home beautiful. "

"Gently teasing" (the doctor's words - not mine) what seems (and feels) like miles of gauze out of your own nose.

The cat won't let me out of his sight, laying on me and gazing into my half-open eyes ALL THE TIME - reaching out to poke me with a thumb to the cheek or a hand on my arm every time I look away as if he can singlehandedly keep me safe. Maybe he can and I just haven't woken up to that fact yet.

Having a nurse that tells you it was an utter delight to take care of you...

...and having a nurse who's an utter delight to be taken care of by.

And last, but certainly not least, having the reallygood/reallybad luck of faerieJen of the best plastic surgeon in town being the one who transports you to his private clinic so he can put Humpty Dumpty back together again.

Although I could have done without the description of how they did it.

Not even thinking, ever, that a cast is something they can put on your face because casts go 'around' something - until half your face is covered in one.



The realization that you recover so quickly from surgery and sickness not because you are extraordinarily fit or strong but because the sheer and utter mind-numbing boredom of recovery is worse than everything that came before.

The Bigger Questions

It's funny, you know, I was writing an email to Matt (and really, how do you write those sorts of emails?) and it came to me that I'm not so upset about this. Yeah, it hurts and yeah, it really hurts and yeah, it was scary but there's this dividing line between what throws me for a loop and what doesn't.

It seems to me that dividing line is fault. Or, rather, perceived fault.

Putting the dog to sleep? My choice, I could have *not* done it. Matt? I wasn't good enough. Cancer? Force of Nature. A car accident? Well, that's an Act of God.

While those things may very well not be true at all - that's how thisJen places them on one side or the other on the life-trauma scale.

It's weird the things we realize about ourselves sometimes, isn't it? And sometimes, we learn them at the strangest moments.

Which made me look back at something I was reading in "The Art of Pilgrimage" on Saturday afternoon. And that was this....

The art is to learn to master today's unavoidable situation with as much equanimity as we can muster, in preparation for facing its sequel tomorrow.

In the course of this training we come to see quite plainly how essential it is to have a purchase on our surroundings by being centered in ourselves, not somewhere in the outer world. The person who is always expecting consolation from without is like a swaying reed or a boat on a stormy sea. It seems as if in some uncanny way the surrounding world, the cosmic maya, senses this and loves to play with us - without malice to be sure, yet with a touch of mockery.

To catch onto this trickery is a mark of sanctity.

Huston Smith

So, there you have it. The universe quite obviously decided that I needed teaching a lesson, with a quick wink and a nudge, and, in hindsight, signs of it are everywhere.

Dilaudid was obviously invented because someone, somewhere knew that someday I would need to not be able to feel my face and I am off to do just that for a couple of hours.

Narcotics - The Wave of the Future

And because I am on so many of them, I shall be brief.

Jen,also is right - there was this thing. Then there was some screaming. Then there was darkness. Then there was drugs. Then there was some stuff I don't remember. Then there was drugs. Then there was a kind of emergency surgery. On my face. Then there was more drugs.

And then, boredom and bitching and internet withdrawal and begging to use my cell phone, just once, to call lovely Jen,also (these people on this island who are not surgically attached to a computer just do not understand. It's a crime.) Jen,also who I thank and also who is right - Mom is the only one here and John knows but today is Quinn's birthday and next week are final exams so no stress from my little corner of the world is to go anywhere but on me.

So now, finally, 5 days later, I am home.

With three different types of painkillers! Yay! And a rotating drug schedule and a chart to keep track with and everything!

And bruises. On my arms. And a few more bruises. On my chest. A lot of bruises. One entire leg. And then, a bruise in every pore on my face.

Also something my lovely nurse called "The Dripper" which lives on the bottom half of my face to catch all sorts of things that ... well... drip.

And it's gross. And my eyes are almost swollen shut.

But, like The 6 Million Dollar Man....

Steve Austin, astronaut. A man barely alive. Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world's first bionic man. Steve Austin will be that man. Better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster.

....I have been rebuilt.

I don't think I'll be faster but some parts of me will be stronger. And maybe even cuter. As my older brother put it - "I will love you no matter how you look, but you must be devastated that you will no longer be my twin. So sad, I know I'm so handsome."

It will, however, be a little while before I know and for right now, the ice paks and the narcotics are softly crooning my name. They mix quite well with the virtual tequila and JD. Thankyouverymuch. I must rest up for a visit from a home care nurse.

I missed you guys. But now I'm home. And there're drugs. And that's as far as I'm letting my thoughts go right now.

Calamity Jen Rides Again

This is Jen.

Except not *that* Jen.

It's Jen, also with a message from the Captain of this here boat. See? Seems there was this thing? And then this other thing? Followed by a little surgery, which could lead to a whole new Jen who looks a wee bit less like her brother in that photo down there.

She's okay. That's the important message, from her to you.

Another thing is...she's got her Mom with her and is bound and determined the rest of her family not hear any news that may rock their boats, however temporarily. So if you're reading this, and you know people who love her, then please? OK? She'd rather talk to them herself than have them hear something, about a thing, and stuff, through a blogvine.

She's okay. Sounds weary of the company she's keeping, and anxious to get home. She's without internet access. You might imagine her hosts and hostesses are feeling not much love from our girl at the moment. But the really good news is that she'll be out of their clutches and back on board soon. Maybe even by the weekend.

In the meantime, send her lots of mental hugs and virtual tequila.

And, oh by the way? Do you have any idea how fucking intimidating it is to be posting ON THIS WOMAN'S BLOG?? Sheesh.

Thank you, and good night.

Does This Mean Someone Actually Realized I Meant *THEM*?

So, remember there were two people who were being creepy or whatever you want to call it and ended up prompting me to trash my first home and create the lovely boat we all live in now? And one of them I wrote about here?

Other than the last couple of posts at RG, I haven't spoken /emailed with either of these people. Out of the blue - an email received t'other day...

...I have been thinking about you...maybe I have been a little distant but really I do want to catch up! We should meet up soon to shoot the crap and see whats up with one another. Im very sorry if I gave you the impression that I didnt want to see you...who wouldnt want to see the mighty Jen!!!! Well...hope you dont hate me...I really would like to see whats up with ya one day...ok? Have a wonderful day Jen...Jenny...Jennarama...theJenster...cya...

So, the question is... I never told him I thought he didn't want to see me so did he find the Boat? Or did he just know exactly what he was doing and is now making an effort to fix it? And since it's been about three months - can I even be bothered?

Things for Quinn - Opening the Door to A Future

Engines. That's something else about being a teenager. There are all these engines, and somehow you end up with the ignition keys to some of them and you start them up but you don't know what the fuck they are or what they're supposed to do. There are clues, but thats all.

Engines. They give you the keys and some clues and they say, start it up, see what it will do, and sometimes what it does is pull you along into a life that's really good and fulfilling, and sometimes what it does is pull you right down the highway to hell and leave you all mangled and bleeding by the roadside.

Stephen King
Christine

What is Success?

To laugh often and love much;
To win the respect of intelligent persons and the affection of children;
To earn the approval of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty;
To find the best in others;
To give one's self withoutthe slightest thought of return;
To have accomplished a task, whether by a healthy child, a rescued soul,
    a garden patch or a redeemed social condition;
To have played and laughed with enthusiasm and sung with exaltation;
To know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived;
That is to have succeeded.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

It's Almost Friday Night & I Am Boring

Except, right after work there's gonna be a little Oh Yeah, Baby.