*Singing* This cut hurts like a motherf$%^&. AH HA AH HA
This was adapted from my favourite song right now, “This Summer’s Gonna Hurt” by Maroon 5. The explicit version has a real kick to it.
I underwent surgery last week Friday for my hernia, and I tell you it’s been rough. Not that I’m some sort of wimp. Puh-lease. I’ve had three c-sections. But stitches in your navel?! So, so uncomfortable to live with.
Two days ago, I woke up sweating due to the immense pain I was experiencing all over my abdomen. I ran to the toilet, because I felt like I had to “go”. It was 3am, I sat there and couldn’t figure out if we should call the hospital or not. I wanted to cry: poor, vulnerable, sore me just wanted to weep like a baby.
So we call the hospital and their message was like, “take more pain meds biatch.” They said it in a nice way. Oh yes and that I should call my surgeon or my doctor later the morning if I really need to. I do just that as instructed because I went to the toilet and saw blood! I immediately call the surgeon and he said my symptoms are nothing to do with the surgery and I have to see the GP.
At this point, I thought my stomach was going to collapse and that fixing this hernia was the worst mistake ever. Thankfully we get an appointment with my GP and she does an examination of my stomach. Turns out the meds I was given in hospital was overstimulating my insides and I might have another hernia.
And when I’m “well” we’ll do a gastroscopy to check.
“When I’m well” ?
Why didn’t we do this when I first complained about all my symptoms?
I was too sore to be furious. I didn’t want to upset my colon or any other intestine anyway.
The GP added a new tablet to calm things down and I stayed away from the duphalac. *shiver*
The past day or so has been much better! It’s still helluva (blerrie) sore when I want to do simple things like water the garden or make the bed. I have to drive today to my shrink’s office, so I’m a little nervous it’s going to hurt like a motherf%^&* (singing again).
Regarding the lesions on my brain (on the right temporal lobe), the GP read the report from the scans I went for at the psychiatric clinic and arranged for me to see a neurosurgeon next year January (when we can afford it). Sigh.
Hello medical aid, it’s me again.
Here to claim
for my good health,
eroding your wealth
Eating at my daily savings.
Hanging onto your emptiness-
your promises in cheap brochures.
Only one thing rings true,
that you’re just a scheme.
You’re just one of those schemes.
Look after yourselves,