In the Club

Laws a'mercy...  Am I ever so glad to have survived that surgery!?!  It's kinda like having a baby-nobody is ever gonna tell ya' exactly just how bad it is.  You just gotta live through it best you can.  Every time some nurse pushed her way into my pre-op room, I knew there would be a fresh horror to contend with-and a needle to go with it.  Down here in the south we have a term for those who just can't seem to "handle it."  And since I'm a big believer in calling it like it is, it's fair to say that I'm what they call a "titty-baby" when it comes to all things medical.  I did not handle my surgery with aplomb and elegance and dignity as many of you probably did.  I sniffled and cried my way through it-and even earned an extra valium because of it.  And the first night home was sheer hell-sore collar bone, bruised lips, constantly needing to pee but couldn't, five fire pokers in my belly, and feeling antsy and nervous as a black cat on Halloween night...

Here's hubby's report that he texted to my gal-pals just after my surgery:

"...She's gorked out on drugs and in lala land.  When I walked in she opened one eye and said I need some lip gloss...She didn't get it... The nurse said ice chips only.  So Donna says, "Shit!  Set me up in this bed and hand me the lip gloss!"  And she got what she wanted... 

So here's the real truth:  I was a HOT MESS.  But at least I was a HOT MESS with my lip gloss ON.  Best not to mess with a southern-belle-titty-baby and her lip gloss...

Glad to be an OFFICIAL bandit in spite of all that whining...!