I am Mr. Solitary now, and I'm here to stay.
This is actually kind of a test post on the blog system to see if it shows up as new when you hit "what's new".

Originally Posted by LLL

I pick things up and put them down.

:wow:Can you explain what you picked up and put down? or is it one of your sayings?:sad:"MENTALLY CONFUSED".

Originally Posted by Thomas the Solitary

Hey look, I finally woke up. :dry:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hot_toddy

BIG DEAL :rolleye::rotflmao::wait:

(This is unfinished as of the publishing, but I'll finish it at some point.)

January 19, 2010 - Day 1 - The day of the surgery
My surgery was scheduled for 7:30am and I was asked to be there for 6:00am. I went to pick up my mother-in-law around 5:30am. She was good enough to help us out with the home duties for the day. Getting the kids on and off the bus, making lunch - those sorts of things. I was sure to wear my windpants to the hospital because I figured jeans would be too tight on where I figured the incisions were going to be. Amy made up a bag of other things to bring. She's pretty good to me.

We arrived in the hospital around 6am and got admitted. I took a number and then had some lady call me into a room, put a bracelet on my wrist, and then send me back into the waiting room. While were in the room for those two long minutes, another group of people moved across the room into the seats that Amy and I were sitting in. Weird.

So we went and sat down for about five more minutes. I was starting to get a little nervous now. Then I got summoned again. This was it. I got brought into the PACU to get everything all set for the operation. They had me strip naked and put on that fancy hospital gown and blue hair net thing. I had a couple minutes of fun shaping the hat into different shapes. Then the fun was over.

Others in the room had it worse than I did. One guy had a dying ball joint in his hip from an ATV accident. Another guy was having spinal surgery. One girl across from me was mentally retarded and was having something done to her ear.

I had to ask the nurse if my surgery was altered to include both sides. She looked at me strange at first, but went to the nurse's station and returned verifying that both were included in the plan. That relieved me. I'm not sure I could have handled doing this more than once.

Also, as a word of advice: listen to your significant other. She told me that I wouldn't be able to keep my contacts in my eyes. I told her that they never mentioned that I had to take them out. She brought my glasses, contact case, and contact solution. It turns out she was correct. Out they came.

It was time to place my IV. The nurse asked if she could raise my bed due to her bad back. I said it was fine, so up I went. And up and up. After being hoisted halfway to the ceiling, she started looking for a place to poke me. I figured she'd go for my armpit, but she went with the back of my right hand. She told me I'd peel a little pinch, which I did. Next thing I knew, I had an IV in my hand. It turns out that the little pinch was Lidocaine, which numbed the area for the IV. I hate needles, so that method worked out real well for me.

A strange looking older guy started walking toward me wearing green scrubs and holding out his name badge. Anthony O'Leary was his name, apparently, but I'll call him Dr. Numb. It turns out he was my anesthesiologist. He held it up to my face and then to Amy's. He asked me three dozen questions about my medical history that probably should have been asked before I came to the hospital, but I was happy to answer them. He asked if I wanted to be half awake during the procedure or if I wanted to be completely unconscious. I made it clear that I wanted to be unconscious. Something about knowing someone is cutting and sewing me when I can't feel it creeps me out. He then informed me that he couldn't give me any drugs until I signed some consents from my surgeon because it had the potential to cloud my judgment. So he sat down. Then he put his feet up on my bed. He got impatient and had my surgeon's resident called.

The resident came, explained the ins and out of the surgery, and had me sign the consent. My handwriting was horrible due to the huge tubing system hanging off my hand, but apparently acceptable. I had barely handed the clipboard back to the resident and Dr. Numb was up and pushing Versed into my IV.

A few minutes later, away I went to the OR. I remember thinking I was chatty, but I don't recall. Amy would remember. I felt like I couldn't shut up. I was wheeled into the OR and I ended up on the table. I remember one of the nurses telling me that I was going to have these things on my legs that would help prevent blood clots in my legs. When I looked down to see what they looked like, I saw that my legs had also been strapped to the table. At the time, that struck me as strange. Just as I looked back up, Dr. Numb placed an oxygen mask over my face and told me that I'd only be receiving oxygen through this mask and that no other gas would be introduced into it.....

....blink....

....and I'm looking at a clock that says it's 11:40. Everything is fuzzy. I hear beeping. Where am I?

It turns out I'm in the recovery room. My nurse, whose name escapes me, asks me how I'm feeling. I told her I feel sort of tired and my mouth is very dry. She kindly gets me a giant sponge on a stick and lets me suck the 2cc of water out of it, which half rinsed the goop out of half of one of my lips. Better than nothing. She asks me where I'd rate my pain on the pain scale. I'm a definite 7. Then she walks behind me.

A few minutes later, she asks me to rate my pain on the pain scale. Still a 7. She walks behind me.

A couple minutes later, same thing. I also got to suck on another wet mini-sponge. Now she's just spoiling me.

It's time to move from my bed into a barcalounger. Three nurses come over and help me turn and lower myself onto it. The pain isn't really too bad.

Then she asks me one more time and I do find that I'm feeling a little better. Apparently that was something she wanted to hear because she called to arrange my transport elsewhere.

So this young guy in a blue uniform gets behind my chair and tells me that he's moving me to another part of the hospital. Something strikes me as weird because I'm still in the barcalounger, which is a recliner with wheels. Not exactly something I'd expect to be moved among the hospital in. He asks me if I'm ready and away we go. He pulls the back of the recliner back, and my natural reaction is to stay seated upright and the pain is astonishing. I'm barely able to tell him not to pull me back. He says, "Don't worry, big guy. This is how I have to move you because you're so tall." I tell him once again not to tilt me backwards and again he tells me that he has to. I swear if I was able to stand up he would have been in much pain himself. The third time he tilts me backward, I grab the railing in the hallway and I make it perfectly clear that he is not to tilt me backward again because it causes me great deal of pain. He tells me that he'll run my feet over if he doesn't tilt me, which is asinine. I told him that I'll hold my feet up if he'll leave me sitting up.

I manage to get to my next destination without further incident. This is the part of the trip where they're trying to get me well enough to go out the door. My nurse looks at my paperwork and she gasps at the amount of painkillers I've been given. Apparently each time my nurse upstairs asked me my pain scale, she gave me more pain medicine to lower my number on the pain scale. As a result, my nurse told me that I may experience some nausea as I came down off the pain medicine. The moment she said that, I felt sick to my stomach. I made the puke face. She seemed to panic and she went somewhere and returned with some anti-nausea medicine. A minute later, I felt normal again.

Finally, Amy was led to where I was. She took me home and I retired to my recliner.

Day 2 - Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Almost no sleep. Couldn't stand up to pee. Amy had to sleep on the couch to help me. Stayed up watching Scott Brown's victory speeches and Schindler's List. Attempted to poop. No chance.

Day 3 - Thursday
Removed Tegaderm and bloody bandages. Watched AFV. Learned to laugh differently. I thought this was going to be the day of my first BM, but after a good session, I gave up and gave it some more time to ripen.

Day 4 - Friday
First BM. Wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be, thanks to stool softener. However, I was unable to find the off switch for some time.
First Sneeze. Absolutely agonizing.

Day 6 - Sunday
Last night was my first night in bed. First trip out of the house to Walgreen's. Skipped church.

Day 7 - Monday
Slept in bed last night for the second night with my throng of pillows. I woke myself up a few times moving the wrong way, but nothing too serious. Amy and I went to Target and the mall for a few things and I do admit that it took a lot out of me. A lot of the remaining pain is in the scrotum, which is still pretty swollen. Icing is working, but one can't just keep an ice pack in their pants all day. I decide that it's time to use the scrotal support, which is just as awkward as it sounds. It's basically a jockstrap without a cup in it. I'll admit, it worked pretty well. It wasn't very comfortable, but it did lessen the pain.

Day 8 - Tuesday
I slept well last night, with the exception of being awakened a few times by trying to roll over. I couldn't take wearing what looks like an awkward man-thong, so I decided to change my style of undergarment to boxer-briefs. The support I require is there, but it's going to take some getting used to.

Day 9 - Wednesday
Today is my first day wearing jeans since the surgery. My daughter won three academic awards and I didn't want her to be the one whose father showed up to the school in sweatpants. My belt had to be worn looser than normal because of the discomfort it caused across my incisions, but overall it wasn't too bad. Of course, upon returning home, the jeans came off and the sweatpants went back on. I had a real hard time getting comfortable once in bed due to some mild discomfort I was experiencing in my right testicle. I was so worried that I ran to the laptop to Google it, but ended up both uncomfortable and worried. It turns out that sometimes this can require another surgery to correct. I chose to go back to bed and try to get comfortable.

Day 10 - Thursday
I've decided that as of today I'm about 85% recovered. I still can't really pick anything up off the floor, sit myself up without holding onto something, or lay on my stomach just yet. Amy and I walked around quite a bit today. Once we stopped, I was a bit sore. I'd also recommend that anyone who has this procedure performed that has access to both a car and a truck - choose to drive the truck. Lowering myself down into my 300M is quite a chore.

I love these moments of over-caffeinated wonder I occasionally have.
I have to stop myself from finding the highest mountain and screaming "IT FITS! IT ALL FITS!" -- which just leaves me stunned in a jaw gaping wonder at the whole of ... everything :)
Euclid, St. Thomas Aquinas, the world, everything ... heh... -> 42... LOL
I "invented" the concept of solipsism in high school while walking along the halls surrounded by people.
And I have this feeling that when I actually get around to learning exactly what calculus *is*... that I actually did "invent" it a while back. So *there*, take that, g/f at the time that didn't believe me :rotflmao: (Jeanine)

Originally Posted by Ana54

I love the expression "Keep an open mind but not so open that your brains fall out." It makes so much sense!

the version I heard was something like "some people have such an open mind flies go buzzing through" -- I forget where I heard that, but it made me both laugh and nod agreement in a rather grim fashion.
Which in retrospect is probably a really rather judgemental thing to do.

I dunno. I suppose there has to be some kind of balance between acceptance and judgement.

Oh snap. Who's that again, sneaking up behind the shrubbery once more?

Huh. I thought you were Socrates, but apparently I need new glasses, because you're obviously Buddha.

Hey, Buddha, meet Socrates. "hey dude, hows it going?" "Oh, Pretty groovy actually. Lets go visit Maslow, what do you say?"

On the way to Maslow they meet Bertrand Russell, who sternly turns them away with mutterings about the difficulty of trying to prove conclusively that 1 plus 1 actually does equal two. Upon hearing this, Socrates suggests to Buddha that perhaps they should go pick up Euclid on the way to Maslow because he's a real party animal once he gets a few saucers full of wine in him, according to Plato.

2.
She waddled into the room wearing clown make-up and a short leather dress so tight I could count the change in her purse. So tight that the writers were to busy drooling to finish this line, so I decided to play the knight to her Bishop and shake hands with her.

"Well, hello there" I quipped wittily as she grasped my hand and pumped like a gas station attendant on speed and Viagra.
"yes," she said, finally releasing my poor abused hand.
"So, what brings you to this side of Seedville?" I ask politely.
"You see, it's my husband. He's gone crazy again," she says oh so demurely.

Oh great, I think. It's going to be another one of *those* cases. Well, at least I have plenty of gin on hand.

"I see. If you would explain the nature of the crazy, I may be able to help. I have decent rates, and I don't mind a Reasonable Amount of Trouble."

Sitting heavily in the chair opposite my wooden desk straight out of a bad 1930's Noir flick, she sighed "Sigh. I don't know. He just likes to do back flips off the balcony and scream incoherently at the moon while eating shit. It's not so bad, but it makes him cranky in the morning."

"Ah, another Samurai Clown, I take it. God bless those Magnificent Maniacs for defending our lives from the tyranny of the Blue Wire," I say.
"Yes, well. You don't have to live with him, do you" she pouts.
"No. And thank god for that, too." I quip non-commit-ally.

"Lets get down to business," she says as she crosses her huge bright red clown shoes.

"Fine with me, what do you need?" I ask.

"I'm looking to form a task force to augment the needs of the M Squares, aka. the Magnificent Maniacs, and your name came up in one of our brain storming sessions. Will you join us and fight the Tyranny of the Blue Wire?"

I think about this for a minute. "What will be required of me?"

"Nothing much. Your first task will be to track down and interview several other candidates for the M Square group, and asses their value to the over all mission statement" she mumbled through her wax teeth.

I briefly reviewed my life and came to the conclusion that nothing that I've ever done amounted to much, and marvelled at the inconsequential sequence of events that lead directly to this encounter with this clown from hell. I made a decision.

"I'll join you, but my regular rates will apply... possibly more, as I won't be able to take on other clients."

"Done." she says as firmly as she could, what with the corset squeezing her considerable bulk into some semblance of a human shape.

"Here is a list of people that we cooked up over a meal of veal and insanity noodles the other night while consuming copious amounts of vodka. Review it well, for these will be your team-mates" she squeaks.

I glance at the list. The Preacher, The Philosopher, The Hermit, The Tower; "What's with the Tarot Cards" I ask as politely as possible.

"Never mind all that, here is a wad of cash, get moving!" she sighed seductively as she thumped out the door.

I sat there in my chair, listening to the rain drum a quiet staccato beat on the window behind me. I really should have thought this over a little more carefully, I think to myself.

Words cannot express it.
Photographs cannot capture it.
Microphones cannot hear it.
The blue wires tie me down
And scream for the Samuri Clown

Cut it off!
Cut it down!

Release me from the hell of the blue wire!

The Bushido Code lives on within the burned out hulk of the clown, downtrodden and ridiculed; thrown out into the alley onto the garbage pile of life.
Honor.
As he smears the white face paint over his gaunt, bony face he mentally recites the code of the Samurai Clown, refreshing his spirit to fight the blue wire one more day.
Squeezing the red rubber ball over his nose, he flexes his calves, the warm up to the micro controled muscular exercises known only to the elite of the Samurai Clown. Techniques not even known to the Clown School; each teacher only knew a small bit of it; the whole only becoming clear to the student through the years of intense individual training.

Today, yes. Today was the day this particular Samurai Clown could remove from his mind the nagging voice that directed him to the next assignment, the Hacking of the Blue Wire.

I love the old International Correspondence Schools stuff.
I have a large collection.

Life is decent!

I tell you, nothing compares.

elipse pdt, kate, firefox, chrome, last.fm, and several small woodland creatures quivering in fear that are possibly grooving with a pict.
Ah yes. The late night to early morning hacking session.

I will figure out why the hell the quick reply box isn't working where the same thing works everywhere else.
How annoying.

Maybe it is the template file.

I hate when I can't find anything to post on here. I always attempt to make the things on here either interesting or post things that I think will be interesting to one or some of you guys, but right now I can't find any of those things.

I'm a Mog in a blog.

I have a blog! And here I am posting to it!

Yippie!

Now if only I could come up with something to write on my, oh, lets see... 1,2,3,4, possibly more that I've forgotten, blogs!
And facebook!
And twitter!

And a million other networking sites!

I can feel the excitement!

Can you!?