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September 26, and I've just completed the morbid and yet somehow cheering ritual of paging back to this time 2008 in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kjpepper and rereading the entries (and comments!) chronicling my emergency abdominal surgery and the subsequent hospital stay, all while thoughtfully rubbing the seven inch scar the experience left. This year it's finally been softening up from a hard line of scar tissue to something that feels like, well, skin; there's only a little bit at the top that still feels all weird and lumpy. I guess that's where they began the incision. One hell of a treasure trail, as predicted.
Other than shaking my head and reminding myself that pretty hardcore painkillers not only make for seriously funky hallucinations/dreams (all of which I remember quite clearly) but amusingly fucked up LJ posts (It's like drunkposting x >9000) I guess I'm mostly amused/amazed at how relentlessly upbeat I was about the whole thing. Well, once it was pretty clear I was gonna survive it, anyway - the 2-3 hours right before I actually had to have surgery was probably one of the more terrifying and painful experiences I've ever gone through in my life, and worse, I had to go through it alone. But yeah, considering that was a pretty dire point in my life in pretty much all directions, I have to hand it to three-years-ago me for staying positive despite everything falling apart around my ears and in my fucking body. I kinda wish three-years-later me had retained the knack, but I'm relearning. Sorta.
It's funny, from a certain point of view, 2008 sucked sweaty monkey balls between the two hospital stays for seriously life-threatening nigh unto "no seriously, why am I not dead?" emergencies. (And that was just medically - everyone around back then well remembers the emotional drama going down simultaneously.) On the other hand, and this is the bit of perspective that I keep losing, I survived both times, and that is pretty badass. (Ascell23 pointed out the day I came home, I out-badass Houdini for not dying of peritonitis.) I guess that's why I don't mind this particular morbid ritual every year around my "surgiversary," nor do I think it's unhealthy that I do it. Gods... I need the reminder about how strong I actually am and don't give myself nearly enough credit for. Especially these days when my health is kinda freaking me out. It's nice to know I've gotten through worse... not exactly unscathed, but well enough.
It also means holy shit, my birthday's in two weeksish. What.
Showertime, then I think I need to kill a serious chicken craving. HALLO LEFTOVERS.
kjpepper and rereading the entries (and comments!) chronicling my emergency abdominal surgery and the subsequent hospital stay, all while thoughtfully rubbing the seven inch scar the experience left. This year it's finally been softening up from a hard line of scar tissue to something that feels like, well, skin; there's only a little bit at the top that still feels all weird and lumpy. I guess that's where they began the incision. One hell of a treasure trail, as predicted.Other than shaking my head and reminding myself that pretty hardcore painkillers not only make for seriously funky hallucinations/dreams (all of which I remember quite clearly) but amusingly fucked up LJ posts (It's like drunkposting x >9000) I guess I'm mostly amused/amazed at how relentlessly upbeat I was about the whole thing. Well, once it was pretty clear I was gonna survive it, anyway - the 2-3 hours right before I actually had to have surgery was probably one of the more terrifying and painful experiences I've ever gone through in my life, and worse, I had to go through it alone. But yeah, considering that was a pretty dire point in my life in pretty much all directions, I have to hand it to three-years-ago me for staying positive despite everything falling apart around my ears and in my fucking body. I kinda wish three-years-later me had retained the knack, but I'm relearning. Sorta.
It's funny, from a certain point of view, 2008 sucked sweaty monkey balls between the two hospital stays for seriously life-threatening nigh unto "no seriously, why am I not dead?" emergencies. (And that was just medically - everyone around back then well remembers the emotional drama going down simultaneously.) On the other hand, and this is the bit of perspective that I keep losing, I survived both times, and that is pretty badass. (As
cell23 pointed out the day I came home, I out-badass Houdini for not dying of peritonitis.) I guess that's why I don't mind this particular morbid ritual every year around my "surgiversary," nor do I think it's unhealthy that I do it. Gods... I need the reminder about how strong I actually am and don't give myself nearly enough credit for. Especially these days when my health is kinda freaking me out. It's nice to know I've gotten through worse... not exactly unscathed, but well enough.It also means holy shit, my birthday's in two weeksish. What.
Showertime, then I think I need to kill a serious chicken craving. HALLO LEFTOVERS.
