Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!

RAMBLINGS

Why am I naked?

ARCHIVES

Rambling for the week of January 13: Jesus. And what a life we lead . . . I apologize for the recent lack of updates. Things have been rather hectic. And EWOK was supposed to update last week . . . Ewok? Okay, so on with the update. Everything, for the most part, is doing alright. The operation was a complete success. The only complication was that they forgot that I was not an infant (I really have NO idea how this happened. I'm not exactly small.) and put one of the insicions in the woring place, thereby neccessitating another hole. So, instead of five holes, I have six holes. Whoo hoo. And they all hurt like fuck. Really. I can't reach or bend or anything for fear that I'll lose a "steri-strip"; one of the pieces of weird surgical tape that covers the stitches. I'm SOOO bored. And depressed, actually. *sigh* I wasn't really expecting that the surgery would make me orgasmically happy, but definately not this unhappy. If I could go back in time I would actually go back to the night of the car accident. That was the last real fun I've had in ages. Not the crash itself, obviously, but the things that I did that night. I just feel really empty now. I'm losing weight, which is very good, but I just don't really want to eat anymore . . . sorry, not to alarm anyone. Heh, I guess I can be happy about the weight loss. 30 more pounds to go, and I'll be back to my old self. The ninth grade Nathalie, who was skinny, and (God damnit) didn't take advantage of it back then. Sorry, I'm . . . well, I guess I'm rambling. Which is good! Whee . . . so, yeah, the operation went well. We learned that I have a VERY LOW TOLERANCE to ANY narcotics, which surprises me, since I have been taking around 20 pills a day for the last two years. Sometimes I feel like an AIDS patient. But yeah . . . they sent me home with Tylenol with Codeine (T3), and I am truely afraid of this shit, because it makes me so fucking weird. But it *does* help with the pain. Bah . . . found out some really crap news in the hospital, which only two people outside my family know about right now. And those people know because I was drugged when I told them. :-) Yeah, so this news kind of puts a damper on the rest of my life. And I'm SO FUCKING MAD that this was not picked up before. It turns out that I have a VERY VERY mild borderline case of a disease with no cure. It kills most kids before they turn thirty. I've been seeing doctors for my "asthma" now for twelve years . . . and not one ordered a simple half-hour test that could have let me (and my family) know about this YEARS before. Not that we could (have?) do(ne) anything, anyway . . . just would have been nice to know, is all. Ah, the sweet fucking irony of life. Just when you think you have one thing under control, the proverbial rug gets whipped out from underneath you. Seriously. I am depressed. I have a good fucking reason to be, too, so don't even start. For once, I am sticking up for myself. But I am still the same old Nathalie. So don't worry about that. God. This has been depressing . . . so yeah, the hospital was awful, which was no real surprise, but visits from Ginger (thank you), Patrick (thank you), John (thank you), and Julianna and her mother (thank you VERY much) brightened my days. As did the drugs. But friends are much better than dugs. Jesus. I sound like a fucking anti-drug commercial. Julianna was actually the friend that wheeled me to my mom's car . . . it was an interesting wheelchair ride. I got lots of stares, probably because I was wearing Julianna's "Horny Hat" and holding a bamboo plant that Ginger brought me. Fuck people. Hehe. So, all in all, I was VERY happy to get home. When I got home, I ate my first "solid" meal of mashed potatoes. And then I spent the next three hours in absolute agony. Turns out all the mashed potatoes just sat on top of my stomach, due to the fact that I now have a VERY small hole for a stomach opening . . . I was SOOO sore. Almost ended back in CHP, but I really did NOT want to go . . . depressing place, that is . . . depressing as hell. I need a synonym for "depressed". So yeah, I'm on the mend now, but still cannot be left alone, incase I choke or something. You can tell I'm not feeling well, because I've been in pyjamas for three days now . . . and I NEVER wear pyjamas during that day. Jake and Ewok actually came round last night, and I still wore my pyjamas. Gotta get out of this . . . but it's almost inpossible. Neurologist on Tuesday, Allergist on Friday, follow up with the surgeon on the 22nd, and I gotta find myself a pulminologist. Yeah. I feel like I'm fucking 80. Blarg. Today I made a fabric collage, entitled "Fundoplication". I made a fabric fundo. Yup. I'm an artdork. Till next time, homie G. Peace.