fashion: head wound chic?

For those of you on the edge of your seats–I’m home, safe and sound.

I’m totally rocking the head-wound look, though. I feel like a background actor in a civil war movie hospital scene. I was instructed to keep them on and keep it dry for at least the next day, which is just as well since I don’t think I have a hat large enough to cover this and I didn’t make it to the store in time to go with my other head covering option. 😉

My “surgery” was yesterday morning at “9:30”. What that really meant was getting to the hospital at 9:15a, getting into prep–i.e. nekkid but for what we called a warm-weather medical Snuggie*, an IV drip and then sitting around staring at the walls for a few hours. A lot of people asked me a lot of the same questions over and over, they had a lot of difficulty trying to figure out why a dark blonde, white guy was my “family” and the anesthesiologist scared the hell out of me talking about all the “bad things” that might go wrong during the procedure. The operating doctor had a colleague look at my head and they both made very worrying faces and then seemed to remember where they were and put their smiley-doctor-faces back on. Nice.

I finally got wheeled into the operating room, ABBA was playing and the anesthesiologist kept asking if the song was from Grease. He asked what my favorite drink was–a gin & tonic–and promised me he’d give me something even better! Then after I told him I was a web developer, he said “I have a great domain name but I don’t know what to do with it.” At that point, I started talking to him on such a technical level in the hopes that he’d shut me up with whatever he planned to add to my IV. It worked as I do remember saying something about trying to sell it and the next thing I knew, I woke up in a recovery bay and my head hurt… a lot.

I was still drifting in and out of consciousness, but managed to perk right up when the RN offered me something to eat and drink. Ginger ale and graham crackers looked like a martini and steak right about then since I hadn’t eaten since 10pm the previous night–stupid fasting. Eventually they got my friend and I got dressed and she gave me some instructions and prescriptions and insisted I get in a wheelchair to be taken out of the hospital. I admit to being in a bit of denial about my own ability to both walk and stand upright. After we got a cab via a very confusing process, but nothing as bad as my experience three years ago, we were on the way back home to meet up with another friend ready to help take care of me.

Let me just say, my friends are awesome. I am not accustomed to asking anyone, even friends, for help. It’s not that I don’t want their help, I just don’t want to burden them with my problems. But in this case, they wouldn’t let me leave without a responsible adult to take care of me. Even though this ruled out a good number of my friends–I kid, I kid!–I had plenty of offers to come take care of me. However, since I only have a few places to sit in my place at the moment, I just had the two people helping me. And it’s a good thing, since I did have food ready, but they made me something way more healthy and had fun doing it. In the meantime, I took my antibiotics and my pain medication and well… I got a little loopy:

[flv:archer_pills.flv 500 282]

Ok, I didn’t have a flashback, but it became very apparent that I needed to stop doing things and sit my ass down. I am totally posting my friend’s fattoush recipe over on the food blog though. With the nice weather coming up, it will be a great appetizer or meal and so easy to make.

Still, I’m fine for now, taking today–at least–off work and taking it easy around the house. I’ve still got a bit of pain, but that’s what the pills are for. And while I wouldn’t have chosen this particular reason, having a day off is still rather nice. If only it were a bit warmer, I could go up to the roof with a sun hat and some big ol’ Jackie O. sunglasses and a giant issue of some Parisian fashion magazine with a pitcher of iced tea by my side.

Oh well, maybe next week.