The Horror . . . The Horror

Actually, it's not all that bad . . . I have a bone to pick with Beaumont again, but other than that I'm not in too much pain or anything. It's just the blood . . . all the blood. Massive amounts of blood everywhere. You know what they say about head wounds.

We had a bit of a confidentiality problem with my mother in the room . . . something about the male nurse saying "oh, and you quit smoking . . . that's good . . ." Now I'm sure my mother knew I smoked at one time, but we really did not need to be reminded of that this morning. Especially since it's not like I quit smoking last week, it was four years ago. We also shared that I was not pregnant. There was a lot of sharing. Too much sharing. And he could have just said "and you don't smoke" and gotten his answer.

The whole thing was surreal. Various RNs would come into the room and ask the same round of questions (except for Skippy "you quit smoking") and then they would check your answers . . . toward the end, after they checked my mouth for "dentures, loose teeth, caps or appliances" (toaster, in your mouth?) for the tenth time, I wondered outloud if we could skip a step and they could just check without asking. Since they were going to check anyhow.

So now I have this nose sling, that is attached to my ears, holding gauze against my nose . . . which has just stopped bleeding profusely. The clots down the back of my throat were the worst, followed closely by the blood dripping from the gauze because I was bleeding so much. My nose is now swollen to three times the size but you can't see it because of the nose diaper. Other than that, I feel okay. Look hideous, but feel okay.

Supposably, I have splints in my nose, but I can't feel them. I don't think I have any packing either, as I could breathe really well in the recovery room. I can't breathe now but boy, it was great in that recovery room. Turns out I really couldn't breathe out of the left side of my nose ever. So when you open that up . . . well, I think I was on an oxygen high or something. But again that was before the buckets of blood and the clots. Hideous . . . don't look at me, I'm hideous.

So if anyone wants to visit, bring a blindfold . . . or a mask. And popscicles. And a grande soy latte.

Probably be better if you just leave them on the porch and run though. Just saying. I have pictures . . . but I have to wait until I think they are funny . . . which is not quite yet. Maybe tomorrow though. They are hideous . . .