The first book I wrote was done much like a blog. Different articles, all strung together. And, there were some blue or risque subjects and language. One dealt with elimination on an eight day Colorado river rafting trip. Potty humor for sure, but pretty much true. Caught some flak .
Same kind of humor kicked in last week during second hip replacement. Nothing funny at 4am thought of impending third catheterization. No details. Just cannot pee. There I said it.
My member is saying, “Coach, don’t you understand that Nurse Ratchet is down the hall, sharpening her switch blade?
Self One to Self Two: “What part of PEE don’t you understand?” All you are doing is faking a pee. Take a pee. Take, not fake.
One other unpleasant human phenomenon was this pain. The way hot spots blink–then intensify. Thinking I was pain free, a single sensation would pop in. Just like oven burners. The bb size pain point grows to a hot dime to a hot damn. Hello drugs. No lack of vile thoughts drugs can contribute .
Then, the sensation of a positive. Tingle grows. Hark is that a valid precursor? Another fake. Now the dance. Yes? No? The plot thickens.
The number of tubes needed runs double for me. First, the dreaded IV and tubing. For me there are about 5 of these crisscrossing my chest, other parts.
Hey Dumbass, this is real, gotta go. Nearly tops on the burner. Get up and run. Oops, I knocked the nurses button beyond reach. Now the scene, Five days post op it is now a riot.
I can’t figure which tube goes where, can’t holler loud enough to get her. Prayer changes from go, to whoa, whoa, whoa. I was saran wrapped. duct taped, mummified.
Covid-19 proved nurses are heroes. Final scene? Did we make it?
Wait for the YouTube!