Warning, opiod induced ramblings ahead.
Tuesday I had an autotransplant of my right kidney. They took the kidney out, cleaned it up, severed all the nerves and put it back in my body in the groin, the pain in my flank is gone!!!!!
I'm still in a lot of surgical pain it is hard to get that under control once you let it get away from you. Today is Friday, and I'm still trying to get the pain under control. I switched to oxycontin and oxycodone to try and ride out the pain. So far, it is not working very well.
Two days later and I'm out of the hospital. Super G is back in Ohio, Hightower and The Little General (forget what I've named her before, but that is one my stepmother knows ) went back to Nebraska, put Uncle John to rest.
I struggle with the surgical pain, but I know it will go away and get better. Friday I woke up 30 pounds heavier than I was on Thursday. I was not making very much pee, so they poured fluids into me, then gave me diuretics to get it out. I wasn't so happy with the plan, and upon release on Sunday, we had to go to wal-mart and get me some clothes, as I had one pair of pants and one shirt that fit me.
I obsessed about this weight gain, my right leg was so swollen and tight I could not bend my knee. I described it to the nurse as being a watermelon wrapped inside a grape.
Not very comfortable.
But it is going away. And I am here alone, again. In quite a bit of pain right now, waiting for the meds to kick in, so I ambled out of my room and came down to the business office to blog. I don't mind surfing on the craptop in my room, but I need a desktop to type with speed and finesse. You can't do anything with finesse on a craptop.
So I was in the shower this morning, thinking about Super G. We've had our ups and downs. I'd say that my medical oddity odyssey was definitely a down. It has been hard, learning to live with a person that emotes, and has thoughts that must be heard, and things of significance to say, and feelings that get hurt. But it has also been wonderful being with someone who can finish your thought in the same perverted way. Nothing has been more rewarding to me than to parent the two blessings that he gave to me all Goddamned day, and fall, completely exhausted, into a bed full of dog hair and Goldfish crumbs, snuggling up nekkid under my own blanket next to him and his seven layers of pajamas, and giggling about some stupid demented thing until one of us (usually me) has to get up and pee.
Eight years later and he can still make me pee. THAT is saying something considering the shape of my kidneys.
Last Tuesday morning, as we walked from the hotel lobby to the hospital for my evisceration...uh, I mean surgery, I casually, and not so subltly pointed out to Super G this beautiful emerald and diamond ring on display. Chances are it was antique, chance are it cost more than the Hulking Mini Van of Death, chances are that it has been on display in the same place for a long time, as there were tiny cobwebs around the box. I had looked at it every day for a week. It never moved, the display never changed. I made sure he saw it, a definite "if I survive this surgery, this would be a good gift" hint. You See.....
Super G has Gift Angst. Severe and profound Gift Angst. He tries so hard to give people what he thinks that they want, then he flounders in an ocean of indecision about his gift, then he worries. Then I tease him. And for the big ones, yeah, he sucks. The year I got the lesbian lumberjack shirt that was 2 sizes too small. Fail. The Christmas I got books 4, 5, and 6 out of a series in which I had not read books 1, 2, and 3 (and no, seeing the movie is not the same). Epic Fail. And then there was the subwoofer. Blatant gift-was-really-for-you fail.
No one can be perfect, and this is his blemish that I have engraved large and bold in type and on the internet for the world to see, and read and laugh and mock.
However, my intent here is not to destroy his confidence and make him a laughing stock. All our friends, and now, everyone else, already knows about the trail of less than stellar gifts. And he has dutifully given me exactly what I ask for when those all important times of year roll around. ( **cough** Kennth's Gift Certificate**cough **)
Nope, in the shower today, I realized that he gives gifts of genuine love and care, of tender emotion and undeniable affection. He hears me when I prattle on about the smallest of things.
I say once, in some odd conversation about hunting season and why I only want to cook wild game taken down in the meat department of the grocery store, that I'd always wanted to shoot a gun. Seven months later I get a gift certificate to the local shooting range to take a Concealed Carry Weapons Class, where I will get to shoot lots of guns, and find out that I'm actually good at it.
Wow. It was the coolest thing I've done in a long time, I still have my targets hanging up and we are now members of the club. I can't wait to get my NRA membership!!!
What kind of guy would remember that one little comment, so many months later?
Then there was the music. The song "Photograph", by the group Nickleback, was going through my head and I was singing it to myself as I gathered laundry upstairs.
I come downstairs to start working and discover that he had downloaded the song in a legal and legit way, and put it on my desktop, so that I could click on it and listen to it over and over, whenever I wanted.
That, my friends, is geek sweet. He's a systems engineer, he's not some smooth talking Lothario car salesman-real estate agent-businessman-corporate executive. He is different. He thinks differently, and I realized today just how lucky I am at times to have that in my grasp. When he stops worrying about getting the gift that I want, and just does these little things for me, it swells my heart and helps to overshadow the times I have wanted to bash his head in with a rock.
Friday, my feet were cold in spite of the fugly hospital booties I had on. So we went downstairs to the gift shop, and I bought a set of fun socks. They were zany colors and designs, you get three of them, and none of them match. I got multi-colored puzzle piece print, and multi-colored stripes of differing widths. They made me smile when I looked at them. As the weekend went on, I realized that I'd never wear them out of our house with the whole mis-match thing going on, and I really loved that puzzle piece print. So on the auspices of going to get a goofy pair of socks for Bug, I slithered another package in for me (along with a "Repaired in Rochester" T-Shirt). I didn't need them, we really didn't need to spend the money, but they made me smile when I looked down, and so he didn't batt an eye.
It's the little stuff. When he doesn't anguish over it, and think about it, and feel like he HAS to get me something, when he just sees something and thinks of me, those usually turn out to be the best gifts ever. Sometimes, when I've had a long hard day, and I am keying furiously to get my work done by ten, and he gets home at 9:30, the best thing ever is when he hands me a cold REAL Coke, because he knew when he left work that I had a hard day, and might need it.
Getting back to the ring.
Coming back to the hotel yesterday, as we passed the display case, my heart skipped a beat...... the ring was gone! I got a bit lightheaded and shaky, until I saw that it had only been moved to a different spot in the case, as another ring was missing.
Now, I don't know if he did or he didn't. But part of me says he went back to see if it was possible for us to get that ring. Maybe he did look at it, maybe he didn't. But the cool thing about Super G is that I know that he at the very least thought about pricing out that ring for me, and the love and devotion and sweet, sweet passion for me that he has in perhaps even thinking about pricing out that ring are more than most other women could ever hope for.
Or, they actually just dusted the display for once and put it back in the wrong spot and the asshole didn't even so much as give me a get well card.
Take your pick.