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Welcome back!

In last week’s episode, I was going under anesthesia for my double mastectomy direct-to-implant surgery. It’s so weird all the shit they did when I was unconscious, and that it only felt like a half hour.

Let me tell you about my surgeon. He is about 70 years old, with terrible bedside manners but impeccable reviews, so he was my guy. Honestly, in such situations, I’ve realized that I want a doctor who is quick, informative, and has no fluff. Small talk is weird to me; I don’t mind it, but I usually end up blurting out some stupid shit and regretting it later, like at 3 am, another hallmark of ADHD – motor mouth on autopilot.

My plastic Surgeon, on the other hand, has the energy of a reality TV surgeon—explosive and hyper—but they both did an excellent job. However, I still have years of reconstruction ahead of me.

When I woke up, I was all kinds of fucked up. I was high as a kite, sore, and confused. As the world became clearer, the nurses began to make more sense. Water… was all I could muster up; I was so thirsty. I live with a constant dry mouth, not only from medication but also due to a dental procedure. The left half of my tongue is numb, so essentially, my right lung was feeling lonely, so it invited cancer over or something; I don’t know, but I think my lung is falling in with a bad crowd. What were we talking about…

After I was rehydrated, they began to wheel my bed to the post-surgery area. As we made our way down the hall, out popped my husband, Lee. Spoiler: We did get married, with my favorite little seal, like the animal, as a pillow, and my dad, Erik. Boy, was I happy to see them! I was so out of it, but felt much more at ease now, knowing my people were nearby.

After I got situated in my room, I looked at the board where they wrote all your information, and it said, “Happy Birthday, Krissy!” Oh yeah, it was my birthday. I felt like Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby after Daisy and Tom fought at the hotel, while he and Jordan remained, when he remembers it was his birthday.

Soon after, my maternal grandmother, Janet, and aunt Michelle, as well as my dad and Lee, chatted, and I assured them I was feeling fine, which I was at that moment when my phone rang.

-ring-

*I type ring as if that is what noise my phone makes when someone calls; it’s that spooky tune, you know, the one that sounds like the soundtrack to a vampire movie.*

Darin, my boss, was checking in to see how I was feeling. Who knows what we talked about, ha! Like I said before, I was all kinds of drugged up, but I was happy and chipper and so happy to hear from a friend. Darin has gone out of his way throughout my journey to touch base and check in on how I’m feeling. Everyone at Drekker is kind and generous, but I have worked closely with Darin for many years, and I appreciate our friendship. He’s very supportive and encouraging, and he has been pushing me to write a book. However, this blog is what came of his support, nudging, and friendly banter. I am lumping Darin into my nurse shout-out because his wife, Beth, works as a badass nurse at the hospital I go to, and he is always sharing tips and tricks from Beth when he has them. So, thank you to the Montplaisirs for checking in and encouraging me when needed.

Before everyone left for the night, it wouldn’t have been the worst day ever if a group of strangers hadn’t sung to me. Okay, okay, that’s harsh. I am so appreciative of the nursing staff for singing to me and celebrating my birthday with a card and more drugs.

My older sister, Kim, was on her way from western North Dakota to come and stay with me for a couple of days to help me manage my pain and drains. She suggested I ask for medication to help with constipation overnight to keep me regular, which was kindly given to me, topically. Yup, I thought I was getting a pill or gummy, but when she said roll over, I knew I had made a terrible decision. I was just kidding, but it was quite a shock at two in the morning!

As the sun rose on another day, I was discharged. Kim and my Aunt Laura, whom we call our sister, because our dad was the oldest in their family. Laura was the youngest, so she was not much older than us; she helped me pack up all my shit and gifts when the nurse came in to say goodbye. As she did so, she thanked me for being kind to her. Excuse me? My nurse struggled slightly with English, but I could understand her and her direction. It broke my heart that it happened so little that she went out of her way to thank me, the patient, for being kind to her. While it can be frustrating in specific situations when you have to ask someone to repeat what they said, I can guarantee that I have had to repeat my words to older generations because they don’t want to wear hearing aids. So, what’s the problem with less-than-perfect English?

I am quickly losing my patience with a large majority of people who treat others less than they deserve. We are all imperfect, we all sin, and we all came from someplace in this world; why does it matter where? Be kind, be decent, and help your neighbors because one day, it may all change, and you could find yourself needing help to no avail.

Alright, I’m stopping here. I have a shit ton of packing to do before we close on our house on July 7th!

One last thing: Please check out my husband’s sci-fi trilogy, The End Line. Books one and two are currently available for sale, with all proceeds going toward cancer-related bills. Even if you don’t read much, your support would go a long way, and the artwork is badass, so it’ll look damn fine on your bookshelf that you definitely use for books you totally read.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for following along. I’m a professional at handling difficult situations these days, so please reach out if you have questions or just want to bitch and complain. I’d love to join you, so please reach out!

The next issue will mainly be dedicated to post-surgery, which is nasty, so prepare yourself! Until next time.

Xoxo Gossip Girl

-KB

-Michael Scott