Sam-a-rama!

"Say, does this look funny to you?"

Monday, May 01, 2006

Frankenstein Johnson, Esq.

This Wednesday ends what I hope will be a long journey I've been having for almost two months as I head back into the hospital for surgery and I for one will be happy as Dick Cheney with a shotgun and some targets. It's been a long, tough trip, but I hope that this will be the final time I'll have to go to St. Joseph's for anything unless it's to get their children's asprin. Oh, how I love the orange flavor.

The reason that I've been having all of this surgery (five times as of last count) is a graft that I recieved for dialysis in the beginnng of April to replace the catheter that has been in my chest since October. The graft was made of Gor-Tex and inserted into my right arm, which would have made it easier to draw blood from me. It would also be usable only a week after the surgery. Catheters are usually made for older or more infirm folks whoes limbs aren't working well, and my arms and legs seem to be doing fine. Plus, after six months, it's best to get rid of the catheter as it causes infections. Which is why I went in for the graft and had the catheter removed a week later. However, the graft began to clot after a week, which meant that I wouldn't be able to have dialysis. So the next day, I was admitted back to the hospital and had another catheter inserted after having the original taken out only days before and set up for surgery again a week later. By the last time I went back to St. Joe's, the nurses in Day Surgery knew me by name and the medicines I was taking. They knew how much gas it would take to knock me out in the O.R. By the way, let me tell you that if they have to knock you out, try to at least go out with one last statement before you go. I think it always lightens the mood of the room, plus you never know if it could be the very last thing you may ever say. They do have accidents in the O.R., you know. The last thing I remember saying when they put the mask on me and told me to breath deep was something to the effect of, "I really friggin' hate the French". I really couldn't think of anything else thanks to the anesthesia, but I think I did pretty well before I went down. Fortunatly, it wasn't the last thing I said, but the graft wound up clotting just after surgery again, which means I have one more time to get it right. Of you can think of something cool, let me know and I'll use it.

The only good thing of it is the drugs afterwards, as I was prescribed oxycodone for the pain each time. You know, the stuff that Rush Limbaugh got busted for. I know now why he was taking them so much now, as it kills anything that makes you feel bad. Had surgery? Take a pill. Got back pain? Take a pill. The President's ratings at a new low? Take a pill. It'll end all the pain you got and make you forget about anything. Trust me, it works. With all that though, I still have to go under the knife and I just hope it's the last time in a long time before I ever see a surgeon until I get my kidney transplant. Actually, I kinda hope that I get that kidney soon so I get it over with and have a life again. I'll be forty on June 14th and going into the next part of my life. I just don't want to go into it having to be plugged into a machine for the rest of it. So, let's hope that this time around when I'm being gassed, my last words are, "Get it right this time, boys" and the new graft works.

Wish me luck, please.

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