News from the world of the fat and poor.....

Apparently neighborhood property values predict local obesity rates better than education or income.

"The study, published in Social Science and Medicine, found that for each additional $100,000 in the median price of homes, obesity rates in a given area dropped by 2 percent."

Let me get this straight. The less money you spend on bacon cheeseburgers, the more money you have for your mortgage. Hmmmm. Maybe I should start investing my bacon cheeseburger money. After all, you can never be too rich or too thin........

*waaaaaaaaa*

College football started tonight. I was at work.

It's opening weekend. My sister who doesn't like football is coming to visit. It would be rude to spend all weekend in front of the TV. (Contrary to popular belief, I'm not really that rude.)

Next weekend is NFL opening weekend. I work all weekend.

*sigh*

I sure wish I could put the rest of my life on hold until January.

I *heart* Dilbert

Feels so good....

Do you ever have a day that is so long that when you finally get to lay down to go to sleep the only thing you can think is, "Oh my God, this bed feels so good!" And then you're asleep before you can really enjoy it?

Yeah, me, too.

Dear Not-Sick Lady in Bed 5

I know that you are here because you need attention. We will give it to you.

I understand that you want medication for your imaginary illness. We will give it to you.

I acknowledge that you just want someone to be nice to you. We can do that, too.

Until you call me and tell me that even though you are perfectly capable of getting up and going to the bathroom, you have shat yourself in the bed, and you expect me to wipe your fat, lazy, shit-covered ass.

All bets are now off. You are on your own.

My deepest fear

I met my deepest fear today. Her name is Jackie.

She is mostly paralyzed from the neck down, but she can breathe on her own and has very limited mobility of her right arm.

She rarely gets out of bed, though she gets up to a wheelchair occasionally if she needs to go anywhere. No motorized wheelchair for her. She can't move her arm/hand well enough to control it.

She can't talk. She can nod yes or no.

She was in a freak traffic accident one day while driving home from work. It happened at low speeds on a residential street.

She suffered a traumatic brain injury and her spinal cord was shredded at C4-C5.

She knows everything that is going on around her and to her.

She can do nothing.

If that ever happens to me, I expect one of you to show up in my hospital room with a 1000 unit bolus of regular insulin.

Supplementing Social Security

Exactly what do you do to punish this guy?

The Name Game

One of my favorite things to do on Sunday is read Mostly Cajun's Name Game. If you don't read it every week, you should.

A friend of mine sent me this link to an obituary in her local paper.

"Survivors include.... sister Tizzy Thorazine ....."

How could you do that to your kid?

Damn memes

Bohemian Road Nurse and Mark from Mark on the World have both tagged me for one of those meme thingees again. I'm going to guess that they weren't reading my blog back in May when I did it the first time. But in an effort to be a good blogger, I'll do it again. It has been three months, after all.

1. When I graduated from high school I wanted to be an accountant. I love math. But I was bored out of my skull in my business classes, so when I took an EMT class and loved it, it didn't take much for me to change direction from business to medicine.

2. I have an aunt who is a medical missionary in Bangladesh. She has been there as long as I have been alive. She's an RN, and she's the most incredible person I have ever met.

3. I cry every time I watch Remember the Titans. It's my chick flick.

4. I crochet. I make doilies and tablecloths with thread and afghans with yarn, and I usually do it while watching football.

5. I am scared of the dark. I have nightlights all through the house. It makes my husband crazy.

6. I play the piano. I can play most songs by ear, and can sight read most music. I used to be pretty good before I stopped practicing.

7. I hate lotion. I absolutely hate the feeling of it. It's slimy and greasy and I can't stand it on my hands.

8. I love roses. Those big, beautiful roses that you can only get from the florist. I always say it's a waste of money to buy bouquets of roses, but I'm lying. I'd love to keep a vase of them on the table all the time.

I'm not going to tag anyone. But if anyone else wants to play, go for it.

Pencil Pushers

They changed our ER billing procedures, and (among other things) you can no longer charge for application of a dressing to a wound unless it was a burn.

Note on the whiteboard at the nurses' station: "You can not charge for dressings unless your patient has been on fire!"

I'm impressed.

You gotta go check this out. This is phenomenal. Seriously. Beats the hell out of the .620 I saw a few years back. I can't even wrap my brain around it. What do you think his liver looks like?

FYI: Nail Biters

Apparently PRK cures fingernail biting.

I have been chewing my fingernails for 30 years.

I stopped on July 31.

Didn't notice for a week or so.

Still not chewing them.

Creepy.

After the Viagra

We've all been tortured by the Viagra commercial with the middle aged guys sitting around singing about their conquests/dreams thanks to Viagra to the tune of "Viva Las Vegas".

What they don't tell you is what happens afterwards.

Because after the lovin' is gone, baby, here's what you are left with.

There's the woman who ripped out her boyfriend's testicle at a party and tried to swallow it. I especially like the part where she says,

"I am in no way a violent person."

Really? So ripping out his testicle was your idead of non-violent behavior? Holy Shit! Do not piss this girl off, guys!

Then there's the woman who set her ex-husband's genitals on fire. She was mad because he was

"drunk and half-asleep watching porn in the apartment they share."

Wow. can you imagine if every woman did that if their significant other watched porn? 3/4 of the penises in the country would go up in flames!

It's all fun and games and singin' like Elvis until somebody loses a.....well, you get the picture.

Change of Shift

Change of Shift is up over at Nurse Ratched's Place... go check it out! She done opened up a can o' western on our asses this week. And as usual, that can is creative as all get out.

Nothing grosses me out, huh?

I pride myself on my ability to not be grossed out by things.

Puking? No problem.

Puking with a GI Bleed? Still no problem.

Code Brown in various stages of liquefaction and many colors besides brown? Again, no problem.

Unwashed land whales needing a catheter? I'm your (wo)man.

Frothy green sputum? OK, me no likee, but I can deal until I'm out of the room.

Same with grinding bones, displaced (or missing) body parts, various abscesses and even gangrenous toes.

I just caught my cat chewing on my toothbrush.

I'm completely grossed out.

I don't know how many times he has chewed on my toothbrush. For all I know my toothbrush has been brushing both my teeth and his teeth for as long as I've had it.

He licks his butt.

There is not enough Listerine in the world to make me feel better right now.

50K, Baybee!!!

Back in April, on a lovely Friday the 13th, I entered the blog world.

.

Four months, one week and one day later, I hit 50,000 visitors.

Matt beat me by a day. (Not that it was a contest, I just think it's funny that we both hit 50K at about the same time.)

.

So to all of you that stop by on a regular basis: Thank you!!!!!

.

Goldsboro, NC, whoever you are: Give me your address and I'll mail you my husband's ex-wife.

.

I'm going to bed now. Ironically, today was the last day of my "vacation". I go back to work tomorrow. *sigh* I knew it was too good to last. Hey, at least I'll have new material!

Somebody 'splain this to me....

Everybody is making such a big deal about Michael Vick. Yes, he's horrible, yes, he should go to jail and pay a fine and whatever, yes, yes, yes, enough already. Already people are saying that he should never play football again, he should be banned for life, he should go to jail forever, etc.

He's probably going to go to jail for at least a year. If he's banned for life, it'll be for gambling. If he doesn't play again it'll be because every team is scared of the PETA protestors. For killing dogs.

Leonard Little got drunk and killed a person. He only went to jail for 90 days and he's still playing football. I know this because I just watched the Rams on Saturday and it makes me sick every time I see him or hear his name. Where's the outrage for that?

Why do we care more about dogs than people?

I'm not saying we should punish Michael Vick less. He's scum and he deserves whatever he gets. I'm just wondering why scum like Leonard Little are still playing. Sometimes I think the NFL sucks.

Public Service Announcement

Dear 400 lb man doing yardwork right next to the busy road that I am driving on: Please put on a shirt and purchase a pair of pants that stay above your buttocks, not below them. While I admire your dedication to physical activity, perhaps you could attempt to make it a wee bit less painful for those around you.

PS: Blinding the people driving by is a good way to cause an accident, you know....

Gotta love the deadbeats

I went to the health department today to get a titer drawn. (20 bucks vs. 60 bucks through employee health; I figured it was worth the pain of sitting at the Health Dept. for 30 minutes.)

I observe the woman with two toddlers, there for their free medical care. She has the requisite fake nails, $70.oo highlights in her hair, and the ever present RAZR and pack of Marlboros. After listening to her complaining about the fact that she waited for 45 minutes to be seen, she tells the cashier how angry she is that she had to wait 2 weeks to get state approval for whatever free drugs she just got a prescription for. I didn't catch which narcotic it was, but I did catch that she is "in terrible pain, and who are they to make her wait so long?"

She then went outside and loaded her herd into a brand new $45,000 Suburban. With the chrome package.

Must be nice. Wish I had a $45,000 car. Wonder who buys her damn gas?

It's Sunday, so......

Revenge is sweet

The Church Gossip:

Mildred, the church gossip, self-appointed monitor of the church's morals, kept sticking her nose into other people's business. Several members did not approve of her extra curricular activities, but feared her enough to maintain their silence.

She made a mistake, however, when she accused Henry, a new member, of being an alcoholic after she saw his old pickup truck parked in front of the town's only bar one afternoon. She emphatically told Henry and several others that everyone seeing it there would know what he was doing.

Henry, a man of few words, stared at her for a moment and just turned and walked away. He didn't explain, defend, or deny. He said nothing.

Later that evening, Henry quietly parked his pickup in front of Mildred's house.. walked home... and left it there all night.
***************************************

The Ex-Wife:

She spent the first day packing her belongings into boxes, crates and suitcases.

On the second day, she had the movers come and collect her things.

On the third day, she sat down for the last time at their beautiful dining room table by candlelight, put on some soft background music and feasted on a pound of shrimp , a jar of caviar, and a bottle of Chardonnay.

When she had finished, she went into each and every room and deposited a few half-eaten shrimp shells dipped in caviar, into the hollow of the curtain rods.

She then cleaned up the kitchen and left.When the husband returned with his new girlfriend, all was bliss for the first few days.

Then slowly, the house began to smell. They tried everything; cleaning, mopping and airing the place out. Vents were checked for dead rodents and carpets were steam-cleaned. Air fresheners were hung everywhere. Exterminators were brought in to set off gas canisters, during which they had to move out for a few days and in the end they even paid to replace the expensive wool carpeting. Nothing worked.

People stopped coming over to visit. Repairmen refused to work in the house. The maid quit.

Finally, they could not take the stench any longer, and decided to move.

A month later, even though they had cut their price in half, they could not find a buyer for their stinky house. Word got out, and eventually even the local realtors refused to return their calls. Finally, they had to borrow a huge sum of money from the bank to purchase a new place.

The ex-wife called and asked how things were going. He told her the saga of the rotting house. She listened politely and said that she missed her old home terribly and would be willing to reduce her divorce settlement in exchange for getting the house back. Knowing his ex-wife had no idea how bad the smell was, he agreed on the price that was 1/10th of what the house had been worth, but only if she were to sign the papers that very day.

She agreed, and within the hour his lawyers delivered the paperwork.

A week later the man and his girlfriend stood smiling as they watched the moving company pack everything to take to their new home..........including the curtain rods.

How not to lose an argument, MonkeyGirl style

I told my husband that if he didn't start rinsing out his "to go" coffee mugs when he got home from work, I was going to start throwing them away. The smell of 3 day old curdled creamer when I take the lid off to wash them makes me wanna hurl.

So he started using my good stainless steel coffee mug that was a gift from the buddies I left behind when I moved to this nice little corner of Hell.

Sentimental value + nice mug = I won't throw it away.

Jackass 1, MonkeyGirl 0.

CrankyProf Rocks!

Da' Rules according to Murphy, courtesy of one CrankyProf.

Guess I'm doin' pretty good, huh?

AD says that all the cool kids are doing it, and I always wanted to be cool....

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	9
Mind:	8.9
Body:	8.4
Spirit:	9.1
Friends/Family:	6.9
Love:	9.1
Finance:	9.1
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

As you can see, "I hate people" translates to a lower score on the Family/Friends column. Other than that, looks like I've reached my happy place.

Dumb Criminals

He really is as dumb as he looks. He tried to rob a liquor store.

No loot obtained, just a beat-down.

Equally dumb, but with no picture, is the chick who called the cops to complain about the quality of her crack. I assume she looks about like this.

Power

Very drunk boy presents to triage. No, make that "presents to waiting room". He was carrying on and causing enough drama for security to be called and all of us to head out and see what the hell was going on.

In an effort to do some damage control, we drag his drunk ass back in a wheelchair (homies, have a seat) to see what all the hysterics and hyperventilation was about. Every other work is an f-bomb (literally) and he's scratching and hitting and trying to bite everyone in sight.

Meanwhile, from the curtained cubicle next to ours, Dr. Young Stud (who looks like a 16-year-old on steroids and is one of only 3 docs in our ER that I would let touch me because the rest suck most of the time) has decided to come over and see what the hell is going on.

He leans across the empty bed and gets down to Drunk Boy's eye level and says, "Buddy, you can't talk like that in here. We're trying to help you, let the nurses do their jobs and we'll help you. Just calm down and stop cussing."

You can imagine the response. It was liberally laced with expletives. Well, one expletive. Apparently our local school system only teaches the alphabet up to "F".

Dr. Young Stud says, "You can not talk like that in here. Everyone can hear everything that you're saying. You need to stop now." (He's starting to become a little bit unhappy.)

Said behaviour continues.

Doc's now pissed. (Welcome to the club; the rest of us were pissed about 10 seconds after Drunk Boy was dragged in the door.) He says," You have one more chance to knock it off. Otherwise you will regret it."

More f-bombs from Drunk Boy.

At this point, Dr. Young Stud (who is about 6'4" and 250 lbs, not a little guy) vaults the bed and lands in front of Drunk Boy, and says, "That's it, you're done. You're in my world, now, little boy, and you just used up all your chances."

Drunk Boy commences levitating (with a little help from the hands standing by) to the bed with it's waiting 4-point restraints, and in about 10 seconds goes from screaming in the wheelchair to laying flat on his back, eyes huge, unable to move a muscle, with a large, angry doctor in his face. "If I hear one more cuss word out of your mouth, I promise you, this will look like nothing."

Dead silence. And then the sobbing begins. "I want my mom." Conveniently located by the homies, who have now split, mom is in the waiting room. Drunk Sobbing Boy is now mostly quiet.

And the mood has gone from pissy to jovial in the ER. Because nothing cheers you up like making a belligerent drunk cry for Mommy.

People suck.

There are few things that sicken me more than people who attempt to capitalize on tragedy.

Nice to see that she views the death of her daughter as a potential paycheck.

How not to lose an argument

Guy wrecks his motorcycle.

He's got a broken hip, a fractured spleen, and three rib fractures with an associated pneumothorax.

He just got married a week and a half ago.

He just got back from his honeymoon yesterday.

He and his wife got into a fight about his motorcycle.

She wants him to get rid of it, he doesn't want to.

He took off on said motorcycle and ended up in Trauma 5.

Methinks the decision was made for him.

Bittersweet

Sweet: Two weeks until college football!

Bitter: Two weeks until Lee Corso and his obnoxious antics.

Sweet: Football 7 days a week!

Bitter: Working every other weekend.

Sweet: The Big Ten has a NETWORK and I have DirecTv!

Bitter: NFL Sunday Ticket costs 280 bucks now.

Sweet: Caffeine as a substitute for sleep!

Bitter: Caffeine as a substitute for sleep!

Advice

The fan who caught Barry Bonds' stupid HR ball says he doesn't want to sell.

I think he should sell before Greg Anderson gets tired of being in prison and talks. Then the ball will be worth nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch. Take the $500K and run, baby.

Sucker

I agreed to go into work tonight, for one night only, in the middle of my vacation, because they were desperate. I checked to see who was working, found it to be good, and agreed. I will regret this. I know it in my soul.

You don't say....

If you take a cardiac drug for something other than cardiac purposes, it may have cardiac results anyway.

Stupid heart. This verapamil isn't for you! This verapamil is for my cluster headache. Pay attention!

What kind of rocket scientist do you have to be to think that there might be some sort of cardiac effect if you take a cardiac drug? And they're taking multiples of the normal dose!

"....512 milligrams per day on average, and one patient elected to take 1,200 milligrams per day. The treatment protocol involved ramping up the dose from 240 milligrams to as high as 960 milligrams per day, in 80 milligram increments every two weeks, based on EKG findings, side effects, and symptomatic relief."

Holy crap!

Note to self...

If you're in the middle of a nasty divorce, don't send your previously unknown-about girlfriend roses and then try to blame 1-800-FLOWERS when your soon to be ex-wife finds out.

"'It’s going to cost Mr. Greer at least a half a million dollars,' his attorney, Kennitra Foote, said, referring to the divorce settlement. 'Mr. Greer has suffered immeasurably. His wife doubled the amount of money she was requesting.'"

You deserve it, dumbass. Because you're retarded.

Witnessed Nastiness

Well, not by me. But in checking out my latest addition to the Reciprocal Blogroll, (which is quite funny with a bit of gross thrown in; my kind of blog), a memory struck me.

About two months ago, 911DOC posted a not-gross, merely weird question that made perfect sense to me:

"So is it just me, or is naming your colostomy bag weird?"

The post wasn't what was nasty. The comments were what were nasty. Namely, two of them at the bottom. They even grossed Nurse K out.

And so, without further ado, I present NocturnalRN's accounting of the incident she calls "Nasty, just Nasty!"

Football Sunday

After spending all day watching football (is there any other way to spend a Sunday?) I have one thing to say:

Icy-Hot and Lamisil are the only medicated anything that I should have to watch a commercial for during football.

If it involves your penis in any way, I should not have to hear about it. I don't care if the majority of the people watching have penises (penii?). Do they all have problems getting it to assume the upright position and/or keeping those pesky herpetic lesions off of it?

Uninspired

I just scanned my 100+ feeds, read my 20+ e-mails, glanced at all of MSNBC's headlines and some of the stories, and still can't think of a damn thing to say. So I'm taking the day off. Maybe I'll clean the garage.

However, I'll leave you with this:


Q: What can a bird do that a man can't?

A: Whistle through his pecker!

No, really?

OK. I admit that this is a very sad story. I'm totally against discrimination, I like most of the gay people I know better than the straight people I know, and Raging Conservative Christians usually just piss me off.

However.

Did his family really think that a Texas Mega-Church would allow a gay-friendly service? I mean, seriously. He was their janitor. Not a member. (Though they wouldn't've held it even if he'd been a member.) Besides,

"...the church offered to pay for another site for the service, made the video and provided food for more than 100 relatives and friends."

How much more can you realistically expect from a Conservative Christian Mega-Church for a gay man? I personally think that what they provided was exceptionally kind. I mean, that's like expecting a traditional Muslim ceremony, paid for by and held at the local mosque, for a hooker off the street. I'm fairly certain it ain't happenin'.

Pain

Anyone who hasn't already read this via Scalpel's link (which is where I got it), go check out this excellent pain scale. No it's not a joke. But it's very good.

I would insert the usual fibromyalgia-mocking here, but I'm on vacation, so I'll let the malingerers have a pass today. Feel free to pick up my slack in the comments if you feel the urge.

Though I am curious. Joints says,

"Where does psychogenic pain, and the pain of fibromyalgia fit into this scale? I am going to say, 4-7, tops, based on objective signs and pain behaviors. Of course, the emotional impact of the pain may be anywhere on the scale."

Is there anyone who has fibromyalgia that can tell me where they would rate their pain on the pain scale from the link above? Both chronic all-the-time pain, as well as as-bad-as-it-gets pain. And if you go to the ER for narcotics, don't bother answering. We all know how much I think your opinion is worth.

Me, too! Me, too!

I wanna play, too......

Your Brain is Purple

Of all the brain types, yours is the most idealistic. You tend to think wild, amazing thoughts. Your dreams and fantasies are intense. Your thoughts are creative, inventive, and without boundaries. You tend to spend a lot of time thinking of fictional people and places - or a very different life for yourself.

What Color Is Your Brain?

I saw this on at least two other blogs and just had to play.

80's Hairdo's and don'ts

I submit for your vote the following....

Which is worse (on a chick), the 80's mullet, or a simulated 80's mullet using the following hair equipment:

I was lucky enough to see one of each today at Wal-mart, and I personally think it's a draw.

P.S. The one with the mullet was also wearing spandex. She wasn't fat, though. The one with the combs was fat, but not in spandex.

Customer Service

So I'm watching the new American Express commercial last night, and the voice of the "customer service person" says (in un-accented English, no less), "OK, don't worry, it's all taken care of."

When, in the history of the world, has this ever occurred?

I have yet to speak to a "customer service person" without an incredibly hard to understand accent. Ever.

And they never fix whatever you called them for. Well, maybe once.

Forget Gold and Platinum, we've got the new "Fairy Tale Card"!

Universal Healthcare

I believe I have just read the best argument ever against Universal Healthcare.

*sigh*

I think my mommy likes Ambulance Driver better than me. She just called to find out if I knew where to get a copy of his boooook. (Imagine the previous word spoken in a singsongy jealous teenager voice.) I directed her to the Double-Wide Fund link.

She wants to know why I don't write a book.

I asked if her Alzheimer's has made her forget my attention span (or lack thereof). She said that's why books have chapters.

I told her I'd leave that to the talented writers.

She said that I don't have to be a good writer to make money; just look at J.K. Rowling.

Touche, mommy, touche.

Change of Shift

Kim's got a cool new logo for Change of Shift; go check it out!

Business Ethics

The kids filed into class Monday morning. They were very excited. Their weekend assignment was to sell something, then give a talk on productive salesmanship.

Little Sally led off, "I sold Girl Scout cookies and I made $30." She said proudly, "My sales approach was to appeal to the customer's civic spirit and I credit that approach for my obvious success."

"Very good," said the teacher.

Little Jenny was next, "I sold magazines," she said, "I made $45 and I explained to everyone that magazines would keep them up on current events."

"Very good, Jenny," said the teacher.

Eventually, it was Little Johnny's turn. The teacher held her breath. Little Johnny walked to the front of the classroom and dumped a box full of cash on the teacher's desk.

"$2,467," he said. "$2,467!" cried the teacher, "What in the world were you selling?" "Toothbrushes," said Little Johnny. "Toothbrushes," echoed the teacher, "How could you possibly sell enough tooth brushes to make that much money?"

"I found the busiest corner in town," said Little Johnny, "I set up a dip and chip stand. I gave everybody who walked by a sample. They all said the same thing, "Hey, this tastes like crap!" Then I would say, "It is crap. Wanna buy a toothbrush?"

Public Service Announcement

If you are approximately 40 years old, packing an extra 30 pounds on your 5'9" frame, losing your hair, and your idea of entertainment is taking your 4-wheeler out of the garage and riding it around the cul-de-sac in a wife-beater and camouflage shorts;

You Are Pathetic. Get A Life.

You may now return to your previously scheduled programming.

Perhaps she should get a medal

This is absolutely horrific. I just can't wrap my brain around the fact that humans like this exist. Well, at least there's one less, now.

A friend once said...

....after completing a training class in PICC line insertion:

"I should just open a "clinic" and charge a thousand bucks cash from the druggies to put these in. I'd make a ton of money, and they'd all overdose pretty quickly, anyway, so it would be a self-limiting habit. Of course, the coroner would wonder why all the OD's were coming in with PICC lines..."

Just a random memory I thought I'd share with you. Damn, those were the good ole days.

I love gross-out stories

This is absolutely fantastic. Gross, but absolutely fantastic.

Side effects of sleep

I generally sleep using one of two methods. Two to three hour spurts that leave me almost as tired as when I laid down, or six or seven hour periods of comatososity when the non-sleep catches up with me. Neither of those methods promote REM sleep. Hence, I rarely dream. And I never remember them when/if they occur.

I have discovered that when one spends the better part of a week in a Percocet-induced sleep state, coupled with unfamiliar pain about the eyeball region, one has bizarre dreams. (No, I shall not share them with you. They are quite disturbing. Some people shouldn't be naked. That's all I'm sayin'.)

Last night I skipped the Percocet and instead had a more natural Guinness and Football induced sleep. Alas, the dreams continued.

Apparently, my subconscious sees me as a cowgirl (complete with dress and horse) nurse, riding the range taking care of the sick and injured with my bag of thoroughly modern medical supplies. I swear, I had a miniseries worth of things happen in my mind last night, and I remember many of them vividly.

Bizarre.

BTW: In my dream world, if you fall off your horse and break your leg, you'll be dragged into the old-fashioned doctor's back room via a couple of roughneck cowboy-types, and put on a modern gurney, where I'll get you a blanket out of the blanket warmer, start an IV with modern supplies, hook it up to an old fashioned looking IV stand and pull your meds out of hand labelled, big, brown bottles. And then we'll splint your leg with sticks and rags.

This might not be a big deal to some....

....but tonight, at 8/7 Central, I will be sitting on my couch, drinking a beer, watching the Hall of Fame Game, without glasses.

Ahhh. This will be the best football season ever. Well, except for 1969. But I was minus 5 then. Perhaps we could try for a repeat before I die, hey KC?

How it happened...

Last week: "Come on in at 10:00 and we'll do all the final tests, and then if everything looks good, we'll have you come back after noon for the surgery."

Tuesday morning 0900: Panic attack in full force. Thank God I'm not driving. MonkeyHusband: "You sure you want to do this?" "No, I'm not sure! Shut up and drive!"

1000: Battery of tests begins. My eyes are numbed, poked, measured, mapped, and we confirm once again that I am as blind as the proverbial bat. Something new emerges from these tests, though; "Well, basically, your corneas are retarded. They aren't uniform in the way that they need to be adjusted, so LASIK won't work as well. What we need to do is PRK." Essentially, instead of cutting a flap in my cornea and carving out the innards with a laser, they're just going to carve the whole top layer of my damn eye off. Yay.

1100: Battery of tests complete, decisions made, reluctantly, but hey, whatever turns out best in the end is what I want, right? Right. (Remind me of this later in the story when I start whining.) Instead of letting me go to lunch and change my mind, she says, "Just go ahead and have a seat in the waiting room, there's just one more in front of you."

1130: "Um, MonkeyGirl?" (in whispers) "Your credit card was declined. We ran it twice. They say it's stolen." (WaMu, you @#$%^& jerks, say goodbye to the interest from 5000 bucks. Hello, DiscoverCard!) Transaction complete.

1200: I am moved to the back hallway so that I can freak out in solitude. 5 mg of Valium is offered and accepted. No discernible effect. (EVER. Valium is now on my "Not worth the water it takes to swallow it" list.) Loud freaky popping noises emanate from the laser suite. Pulse 100, Respirations 30, holding steady.

1230: Crazy looking woman exits the laser suite wearing the creepiest dark glasses I have ever seen. She is walking with her hands feeling the way like she can't see a damn thing. Oh, hell. He's going to blind me and then make me look stupid on top of it. Pulse 120, Respirations 35, starting to climb again.

1235: I walk into a room that is as cold as the walk-in fridge that my grandma used to store dead animals in between death and butchering. Flashbacks of dead Bambi's are going through my mind, the Valium's not working, and she just took my glasses away. I am now blind and helpless in a cold torture chamber. "Hop up here on the table and put your head in the pillow." (It's not a pillow. It's a plastic, inflatable donut thing. So they can hose off the brain matter if the laser malfunctions, I guess.) Pulse 130, Respirations 40. Fingernail gouges in palm: engaged.

1240-1250: First eye torture, er, procedure, begins. First, numbing drops. Then, this freaky speculum to hold my eye open. Then he takes this thing that I swear to God was the eye version of an electric toothbrush and starts scrubbing the epithelial cells off my cornea. I can't feel it, but I can see it, and then all of a sudden I can't see and he's still scrubbing and WHY THE HELL ISN'T THIS VALIUM WORKING? Pulse 140, Respirations 45, Fingernail gouges nearly to the "drawing blood" stage. Now he's irrigating my eye with bottle after bottle of some sort of cold saline solution, and it's dripping in my ear and around the back of my head and down my neck. Then he pulls the laser over my head and tells me to look straight up into the light, don't move, and that freaky popping noise starts and OH MY GOD IS THAT MY CORNEAS I SMELL? (Kinda like burnt popcorn. Only worse. Cuz it's my eye!) Pulse 150, Respirations 50, Fingernail gouges now bleeding; I'm gonna have a stroke. Then all of a sudden it's done, and there's a lot more cold water in my eye and down the back of my head, and plop, there's a contact in my eye. (They put this contact thing in my eye for the first few days while the cells are growing back to protect them. I don't like contacts. Just FYI.)

1250-1300: No pause in between, repeat procedure as above, just as bad the second time. Pulse 160, Respirations 60, Fingernails no longer gouging, now poking out the back of my hands. Nurse/tech/whatever joking about, "This is you on Valium?" (Note to self, next time bring my 14 gauge Jelco of death to stab smart-ass nurse/tech/whatever in the neck with.)

1300: Corneas burned off, cheesy glasses applied. I can see a gazillion times better than I could before. (Of course, I was 20/400 in both eyes before, so that's not any huge accomplishment.)

1310: Leave office, enter the sun. AHHHHHHHH photophobia!!!!!!! I've got tears streaming down my face out of both eyes, so of course MonkeyHusband says to the parking garage guy, "Don't worry. I just had to open up a can of whoop-ass on her in there. She'll stop crying eventually." Pulse 120, Respirations 30. Never mind on the stroke.

1350: Drop off prescriptions at Walgreens, the second most evil pharmacy on earth, and head for the Chinese Food Buffet to feed the now-ravenous beast that resides in my belly. (Too stressed to eat for the last two days.) Chinese food people looking at me like I'm a druggie because I'm wearing sunglasses inside and I keep sneaking off to the bathroom. (To put artificial tears in my eyes. But they don't know that.)

1430: Go back to the second most evil pharmacy on earth to find that it has become the most evil pharmacy on earth. They only have two of my prescriptions. And they're not the two that I need RIGHT NOW! (The antibiotics and the NSAID eye drops. Like I give a shit about the Percocet and Flonase. OK, maybe the Percocet.) But would I like them to call across town and see if they have them? Yes, dumbass, I would! Perhaps you could call them 20 minutes ago when you first realized that you didn't have them, and then call me and tell me to go there instead, you retarded freak!

1500: $200 worth of eye drops in hand, headed home. Finally.

Tuesday afternoon - Friday morning: It's all a haze of eye drops, Percocet, more eye drops, more Percocet, oops, forgot to eat, hurking up my toenails, no more Percocet, but still more eyedrops. Somewhere in there, Wednesday, I think, I might have gone back for the first follow up appointment. I think I recall a very happy doctor telling me that 20/60 the day after surgery is very good. Might have been a dream, though.

Friday morning: Second follow-up appointment. The evil contact lenses are removed! Thank God. I remember now why I hate contacts. They are miniature instruments of torture put on the earth by a Devil with 20/20 vision. But my eyes aren't healing at the same rate. A new one goes back on my left eye until Monday. AAAAAARGHHHHH! Vision now a combined 20/25, but blurry. I'll take it.

Friday night: Back to work. One night before THREE WEEKS of vacation. Of course, it's busy as Hell. Every drunk in town felt the need to drive and/or pass out in the street. Between my eyes and the hypoxia..... I'm going to go home and become re-acquainted with my Percocet. I'll catch you later.

Skillz

I don't care who you are, this takes some serious skillz.

My favorite part is

"He starts the car with his toes, shifts with his knee and steers with the stump of his left arm. He turns on the lights with his teeth."

Closely followed by

"He has already spent more than three years in prison for habitually driving without a license, kicking a state trooper and other charges."

What an ingenious freak.

*snerk*

Do you have any idea how long it takes to catch up with 4 days worth of Bloglines when you can only see well out of one eye, and it's blurry, at that?

Check out this over at Running with Scissors. So true!

Quote of the night

When I (mostly jokingly) told my co-workers that I couldn't see well enough to put in any Foley catheters tonight: "Did you forget where you work? You don't need to see it- you just follow the smell!"

So much for instant gratification

I went in for another follow up appointment today; I'm up to 20/30 in one eye but only 20/70 in the other. They're both blurry. They're healing at completely different rates. They hurt. This sucks.

Pass the Brain Bleach

Have you been lucky enough to see the new "Viva Viagra" commercial? If not, sing Elvis' "Viva Las Vegas" in your head. Now substitute "Viagra" for "Las Vegas". I hate television.

Longer Break

I ended up having PRK done, not LASIK. So much for instant gratification. I can't focus on the damn screen. My eyes are killing me. I'll be back when I can see again. Hopefully tomorrow. Go read this in the meantime. Funny stuff.