I Gross, Therefore I Am.

Demon slayed!

No hospital visit is normal, I suppose. This one was replete with questions:

1. Are you still Methodist? "What in the world?" I thought. Don't catch me off guard like that. "Why? Do you think I'm going to die?" I said at 6:30am to the groggy receptionist. "I can put 'none'," she said. I said okay.

2. Why are you considering putting me under anesthesia when there's an active Code Red fire search going on? Shrill alarms, white lights, security guards, police officers, and firemen swarming the surgical prep room, while I sit on the bed naked in an oversized backless hospital gown with an IV in my wrist. Good thing I'm not prone to panic attacks.

3. What do you mean I might have to come in for a 2nd surgery if the 'walls' of the hematoma don't collapse in on themselves? It took me 7 months to come around the1st time. Can't you just fix it now? Luckily, he did. A more extensive procedure, yes, but guess what? I'm all scraped out!

4. Have you ever thought about why they call it "prone position" when you're lying on your stomach? "Prone to what?" I asked the surgical nurses. "To wandering eyes? To death? To anal assault?" Funny enough, that's the last thing I remember, in combination with one woman dodging my question by telling me how pretty the tattoo on my shoulder blade is. Then I passed out.

5. Who are the little elves I saw while I was unconscious? The gnome-like elves I saw are also referred to as "self-transforming machine elves," "fractal elves," or simply "machine elves" in the world of dream study. During near-death experiences, these elves come out to tell you to watch and follow them. Sometimes this results in the dreamer speaking in tongues (glossolalia) and singing. At the end of the experience (i.e. death, or coming back to life), the elves are known to move away from your realm of vision, wave, and say, "Deja vu! Deja vu!" Whoa.

6. Why does anyone think it's a good idea to abuse Percocet? Upon my arrival home, the pain was so bad (Thanks, South Jersey potholes!) that I immediately popped two. At first, I felt silly and happy, with almost no pain and a feeling that I was like a Gumby character. An hour later, I hit the height of it's power: I didn't know whether I was going to sweat to death, pee my pants, or throw up. My eyes started closing involuntarily, I started losing consciousness as I crawled up the stairs to my bed, and I flopped down in prone position as I passed out--half expecting to see those elves again. Instead, I heard a loud, high-pitched ringing all around me and saw dull-colored plaid stripes behind my eyes, followed by everything slipping into white noise and snowflakes. I passed out cold for almost 6 hours. Never again, Percocet. Never again.

*****

Luckily, I seem to be healing really well. I'm confined to taking the bus for the next week because I have a row of stitches and a stupid fluid drain attached to the incision (I thought you'd like more butt pics--for the furthering of science and senses of humor everywhere, of course.).

All in all, I'm really glad I had this experience. Different states of consciousness, a reinforcement that I never want to be an unhealthy person, and a profound respect for people who have to walk around with colostomy bags and other such external receptacles to hold their insides on their outsides (like my mother, or my best friend's dad, or a little Sierra Leonean boy, Musa, who graced my life in 2008).

I dreamed that I was on a bicycle last night, and I didn't fall off. I love my bicycle. We've made peace since the infamous accident. I just hope it doesn't forget me while I heal.