Tuna's Back

Hey Guys! I'm actually semi-lucid at the moment and I thought I'd give you all a quick update.

But first things first. Yes. Patrick will be getting his ass kicked when I see him in New York. Now, moving on...

So, whenever anyone calls to check up on me, my mother or my husband tell them that I'm doing great. I look great. I feel great. My doctor has also said that I'm doing better than any patient he's ever had and that my morale is surprisingly high. He said I'm a good sport.

Yeah. Um. Not so much. I look scary. I feel in pain. And I just want to sleep. I mean, how exactly am I supposed to act.

I think this blog is very much going to be about me saying all the things I can't actually speak for a while.

Right now, my prevailing thought is that I am lucky to be as healthy, happy, and loved as I am. But a couple of nights ago, I was wishing that I had never even thought to complain about pain in my jaw.

I have to admit that I was absolutely terrified the first night after my surgery. I couldn't breathe. I was literally drowning in my own blood. But I couldn't speak or explain so no one could help me. I was so alone. I also assumed that they were giving me pain medication. But evidently, my doctor told me later, they were waiting for me to ask for it.

Hello! Ask for it? I can't fucking talk. I had to squeal like an animal to get anyone to notice that I was vomiting blood.

Never mind the fact that they kept trying to take my temperature orally. My husband yelled at them twice about it.

Wow. I actually feel a little better just getting that all out. Considering how longwinded I usually am, I'm sure you can imagine the words that are bubbling up under the surface.

So, as of right now, my jaws are not wired shut, but they are tied shut with elastics. I can only suck clear liquids through my teeth. And I am starving. You'd be amazed at what sounds good right now.

The doctor says I'm doing really well, and he's going to let me put my own elastics on and off starting next Tuesday, so that I can get a little solid food.

I think the worse thing since coming home from the hospital is taking all this liquid medication. God! It tastes awful. I will be extremely happy when I can swallow a pill again.

I can't remember if I ever mentioned before that I know a little sign language. That's come in handy, but people are cracking me up. My husband and kids keep signing to me. Um. Guys? I can actually hear you. You can speak to me.

Can you tell that I'm still on Lortab? It's not making me loopy though. Just tired.

So I'm off again, probably for a few more days. My mother extended her stay until Saturday, thank god. After that I am on my own with these kids.

I hope you've enjoyed Patrick's torturing--I MEAN--posting for me. And, Patrick, I hope you keep posting if you feel like it. Even though my husband is gonna kick your ass.

So, I love you guys. In those moments on Friday night when I considered just how long I could go without breathing before I would die, I believe that your spirit helped me keep sucking air in and out. Breath by breath. Yeah, my love for my husband and kids was forefront in my mind, but I really think that all of you pulling for me helped me through too.

Be safe.