Back when I was in college, English was the after math.
In this particular case, I'm speaking of the aftermath of my surgery which occurred last Friday.
First, let me get started by telling you I don't like anesthesia. I was nervous when I arrived at the surgery center. The anesthesiologist called me the night before and asked me if I had any questions. She sounded friendly so I quizzed her about my insulin pump and blood sugar and letting her know I was a control freak and didn't like the idea of being at someone else's mercy for two and a half hours.
When she arrived in my room before the surgery, my first thought was, "Wow! She's kind of cute. I guess she's literally a knock out." When I get nervous I'm not very much pun to be around. No one was safe. Even the nurse asked if it would be okay if someone called me Monday. I told her I preferred they call me Gar.
As they started wheeling me towards the operating room, the cute little anesthesiologist was behind my bed pushing it and she put something in my IV. She said it would make me feel drunk. I told her only I should be allowed to put something in my IV, but she wasn't listening. I told her I wasn't feeling very drunk and she said, "That's probably because you have a tolerance from drinking beer." I don't remember anything after that.
The first thing I do remember, about two and a half hours later, was someone asking me if I could tell them my name and birthday. I told him. I felt completely aware like I'd never been out. I've been told that's rather unusual as most people are groggy for sometimes several hours after anesthesia. The only side effect I had was a trickle of a pee stream for two days (which was very irritating). I was so happy when that went away I would have jumped for joy. Except I was on crutches. Well, that, and the mess. You should really refrain from jumping and peeing.
I also noticed I had a fresh bandage on my finger. Nurses do not (for some inexplicable reason) know how to test blood sugar. It's like they try to take the end of your finger off. I remember when I was younger and the nurses would come in trying to test my blood sugar using a finger prick, I'd always politely ask that they just take a vial of blood from my arm as it was less painful. You'd think after 20 some odd years they'd have figured it out. Apparently not.
The guy who was quizzing me said he needed to test my blood sugar again. I winced. He did it without mess or bandage required. I told him my story about how no one seems to know how to test blood sugar correctly and showed him my two bandages. He told me he was diabetic (I hate when people call me diabetic, so don't do it) too so that explained that. Maybe all nurses should be required to test their own blood sugar 5 times a day for a month so they can become adept in the art of the non-painful finger pricks. I've suddenly grown fond of the term "finger pricks". Don't ask me why.
Today, my bruising has turned a happy shade of yellow. I would take a picture and post it, but it's a bit close to my junk. If you've been following along, you know this all started out as a possible groin injury. I guess the location of the coloration gives me some amount of confidence that he repaired the correct area.