So last month I underwent a "procedure" - they call it a procedure because if they called it what it really is... pulling bits out of your inside for about 20 minutes with sharp instruments and no pain killers ... I don't think anyone would be signing up. Results from that "procedure" led me into the operating room for a LEEP, where they remove the entire lining of your uterus with electricity because it's starting to tend toward cancerous inhabitation, and they want you to have a fresh start. The nurses were great - I was a wreck, this being my first actual surgery ever, and even in my 30's, I really wanted my mommy. I was already a bit of a tearful mess, and then the one nurse - the Butcher of Seville took over to put an IV in my hand... no, missed that vein... in my arm... oops, missed again... let's try the arm again... SERIOUSLY. And while I cried and tried to look away and not focus on what she was doing, she kept missing, and then saying "OOPS!" Out loud! Followed by "Oh, I never miss!" She did miss. Three times. It hurt SO much. To add insult to injury, she chastised me: "Your hand is ice cold!" Oh really? Oh I'm sorry, that's probably because you stuck me too many times and I actually exsanguinated while you were busy trying to find a passable vein you FUCKING MONSTER. Now stop slapping my arm like a desperate heroin addict. Oh but wait. There's more. Once she finally slid that needle home, I hear this, "I got blood on your gown so we're going to change it." Before I can even survey the damage (she did get blood EVERYWHERE, but the drop on my gown was barely dime-sized), she's pulling down the neck of my gown (I'll note here that I was tucked in to both a set of sheet and two blankets) which then caught up my IV tube and PULLED it... she proceeded to struggle with my gown, tangling it in the IV tube, and no matter how much I cried, that beast would not get her hands off me. That, and an nice IRS tax audit - now that's my idea of a good way to start the day.
On a good note - that was the worst of it. Once the wonderful anesthesiologist hooked me up they wheeled me into surgery - only I was thinking, "Gee, wait, shouldn't we wait for the drugs to..." and that was my last conscious thought - except before that looking at no less than 20 people in the operating room, all getting ready to stare at my crotch - that was mildly disconcerting. Fortunately I wasn't awake long enough to have qualms. And as a nice afterthought, I always did want to ride in a wheelchair. Now lord willing, this will all fade away as just an old amusing story to tell and will have no place in my future. If it DOES have to happen again, I'll request a nurse other than Psycho Nurse Mengele.
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