I'm having another surgery today. For the record that's three in five months. I was new to hospital over-nights and surgeries and anasthesia before last December when I broke my leg (I fractured my tibial plateau - those two words go well together! Where did you vacation last year? We went to the South of France and stayed at the Tibial Plateau). The surgery I'm having today is to fix my deviated septum (no, I never did coke, thanks for asking!) and clean out my nasal cavity. The nurse asked me if I had any questions when I did my pre-op appointment, and I said "Yeah, I don't want to have this surgery." She reassured me that my doctor is really amazing and he does these all the time. My doctor is a nice guy (he's an ear-nose-throat specialist) but he's over 65 and he's absent-minded around the office. The one day he was looking for his head-reflector and guess where it was: on his head! Not the kind of thing that gives you alot of confidence for a surgeon (Nurse, have you seen my watch?) As you might know if you read any of these posts, I pretty much think I am excused or immune to dying. Today I'm having second thoughts about this. I know how it's the little, stupid surgeries that do people in. I'm in the hospital overnight tonight (LOST is on!) and then I'm staying at my parents' for at least a night when I get out. So here are my final wishes and what I want done with my remains:
I want to be cremated and thrown into the wind near the woods at the end of the lane behind my dad's shop. I want to have a party in my honor and I'd like nothing but cheeseburgers, guacamole and margaritas to be served. If anyone wants to say anything, I'd like it to be followed by Lyle Lovett's great song "If I Had A Boat." I'd like my friends to be able to go through all my stuff and take what they want. The remaining books I want donated to the HF-L library. There's alot of other stuff left. My teddy bear. My pick-up truck. My Johnny Cash poster! When I moved a few years ago I wanted to burn everything I own: it's just way too much stuff and it feels at times like it weighs me down. Ok, the hell with this. I guess I'll just come back.
POSTSCRIPT: Well I'm back. I look like a Dick Tracy character and I'm still trying to work the anasthesia out of my system. My first stop when I left the hospital was Taco Bell. I had visions of roast beef sandwiches but the doc says I gotta take it easy with the chewing. I'm hoping I lose the ten pounds (ok - more) that I put on when I was recovering from my leg. My all-time low was about 197, maybe 195, and I've peaked at 217 (fully clothed and sneakered). That was fast food when I wasn't hungry, brownie milkshakes, and pizza. Oh and cheeseburgers and steak sandwiches. I may actually have inspired myself to take care of my post-life bidness after thinking about all the stuff I have. Either way, I really hope I die with my student loans still owed. Ok that's it.
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