Not dead yet

So it’s a bright sunny New Year’s Day and I am happy to report that I am still alive.  The procedure to fix my stubborn Taurus heart was a success.  I am quite pleased.

Please note that just because I am not dead it does not let you off the hook for donating money to Hillary’s campaign.

I may as well recount the whole thing because, well, why not.

We had to get to the hospital at 6:30 AM.  Mark drove. We checked in and then had to sit in the main reception area and wait.  And wait.  People were coughing, people were limping, people were staring ahead looking into the void much like that the guy in the painting The Scream does.

After about 15 minutes of this I had had enough and decided to just go upstairs and find my private hospital room suite.  It was huge.  Some deranged nurse told me to take off my clothes and put on one of those stupid hospital gowns that never fit while she talked about her recent trip to France.  Why do people think they can talk to me?

I laid down on the hospital bed and turned on CNN as they recapped New Years celebrations in Auckland and Sydney.

After a while another nurse came in and asked why I didn’t have any pants on.  I explained that the other deranged nurse told me to take them off, so the new one went to get me some blankets.  They were heated.  It was nice.

This new nurse kept talking to me too unfortunately.  We learned how he tried to live in Hawaii and New York but finally decided Seattle was home and how he used to have a heart problem too but he fixed it on his own and all about his favorite show on the Sy-Fy Channel.  Why?

He was supposed to insert an IV into my right hand so they could give me the drugs to knock me out.  He stuck a long steel needle with a real sharp point into my right hand.  No vein.  Then he stuck a long steel needle with a real sharp point into my left hand.  No vein.  "I’m going to need to get a specialist down here."  Soon this woman shows up.  “Hi, it's my first day on the job, do you know where the needles are?”  As my eyes widen with terror she explains that she has stuck people with long steel needles with real sharp points before, just not at this hospital.  

Just then the anesthesiologist came in and said, “Why are you guys trying to stick him in the hand?  Just put the needed in his arm, god!” I’m like, right!   He introduced himself.  No annoying chit chat from him.  He explained what he was going to do and then he asked if I had any questions. I explained that I was absolutely terrified of dying in the hospital bed in about 10 minutes.  He explained that he would be using the same drug that Michael Jackson’s doctor had used to kill him, but that he was a better doctor and I probably would not die, today.

Then they shaved my chest.  Now I have never been that hairy of a person.  Sure, sure sometimes I find my car keys or my passport stuck in my back hair, but the front of me has traditionally not been all that hairy.  I think this is mostly due to those genital-shrinking-anti-balding drugs I was on for years.  Since I stopped those about four years ago I actually grew a decent amount of chest hair.  Not like a Brundlefly amount, but respectful.

Four years of manly chest hair all gone, all gone within one minute.

Then it turned out the heart doctor was late.  We had to wait for him to show up.  When I met him a couple of weeks ago his nurse told me to tell him, “When you do this procedure on me, you need to be on your toes like a midget at a urinal.”  It must have been some kind of inside joke.  I forgot to tell him to be on his toes and I did not remember this until right when the anesthesia hit and I was out.

Then someone shook me and said “You’re done!”  I looked up at the clock.  It was 10 minutes later.  “Am I fixed? Did it work?”   “Yes. Also, you sure seem to like that Jessica Jones show on Netflix because that was all you were talking about while you were out except for the dinner party you are having tomorrow night because you are worried that your house won’t be clean enough.” 

I’m like, “Oh shit.  Really?”

Doctor, “Oh yes, you really like Jessica Jones."   Oh god.

They discharged me, told me to not sleep for at least 6 hours, and said that I could not drive.  Whatever. 

Driving home, I had to stop and ponder the last 6 months.  How nice to have this resolved on New Year's Eve so I can start 2016 fresh.  

So it’s over.  I am fixed.  For now.  Since we don’t know what caused this, there is no way to tell if it will come back.  For now I stay on the drugs and check with my private concierge doctor in a couple of weeks.

I am very, very relieved and happy to not be dead. Nice way to start the New Year, yes?

Now go give money to Hillary’s campaign.

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