Introducing…My Ass

28 01 2015

I debated whether I should post this or not. Not only am I exposing my soft underbelly to humiliation, but it’s a decidedly gross tale. However, I decided to bite the bullet, suck it up and forge ahead…for the laughs.

I had a second surgery on my arm today to correct some issues with my vein access (for future dialysis…technically it’s called a fistula, but I refuse to use that term…it’s fucking gross). The surgery took no time at all, and I was actually under anesthesia longer than the time it took to correct the issue. Upon waking up, I had my usual lizard-brain reaction to the oxygen mask on my face, which always prompts the folks in the recovery room to assume I am momentarily insane and unaware of my surroundings. Nope. I am always completely aware, just pissed to have that fucking thing strapped to my face. We hates it, we does.

I must pause for a moment in my story to mention something else. I realize this is making things out of order, but I felt it needed saying. Apparently all females ages 10-55 are subject to a urine pregnancy test prior to surgery. I was no exception. I am also no stranger to urine tests. As a person who suffers from chronic kidney disease, urine tests are fairly routine. What does happen, however, is I am never able to give much of a sample. This has little do do with my output and everything to do with my shitty urine collection skills. Seriously. I have always been shit at it. You’d think after 43 years I would know where my piss hole is, apparently I do not and each time it’s like a blind man trying to hit the broadside of a barn with a tank and still plowing through the chicken coop to the north. Never have I wished more to have a penis….okay, to be honest the only times I ever have wished for a male appendage have been urine related. Peeing in the snow, peeing with convenience out of doors or in the woods without fear of a vegetation induced rash…laugh if you must, but I would be totally thrilled to be able to directionally piss on a jellyfish sting victim. Best. Vacation. Ever. But I digress…

So there I was, waking up from surgery, a little surly and groggy-high as fuck. Now the last surgery back in November, I woke from the anesthesia feeling completely lucid and alert if maybe a bit loopy. What got me was a lack of coordination with my limbs. Today was no different except for the urgent need to void my bowels. When I say urgent I mean ‘do something now or all of you nurses fluttering about me will have a really bad day’. I managed to croak out the word ‘toilet’ while gesturing vaguely towards my midsection with a flailing, IV linked arm. They actually asked me if I thought I could make it to the toilet itself or if I wanted a bedpan. Really? I can barely flop my hands about and you want me to walk? I opted for a bedpan, which is the absolute last thing I would ever wish to use, but at this point I didn’t care. After some floundering about on my part, the nurse slides the pan under my arse, but I can already tell it’s a no go. Well, it would have been viable if I voided from my tail bone, but the position where she placed it made the odds of me hitting the actual pan much like the barn/tank scenario. I finally waved her off and said I would just wend my listing way to the toilet, with a nurse on each side keeping me upright. Now let me mention here that this ENTIRE time I was pinching my arse cheeks tight enough to make diamonds, which I feel is quite the feat since I was tripping balls. We meandered our way through a pack of medical personnel because OF COURSE we would have to to get me to the toilet while I am wearing an ass exposing hospital gown.

I make it to the restroom with no accidents, much to my relief, but then I am faced with the dilemma of wiping (yes, I said it…fuck off) while one arm is gimped and the other hooked up to an IV…AND I am moving like a drunken sailor with dropsy. I won’t go into the nitty gritty here because no one needs to know the specifics, suffice to say I was camped out for a while and many paper towels were made use of. That alone is gross enough, but honestly it was more because I am a bit fastidious about such things and my impairment made it quite the task. Washing my hands was a fun exercise in frustration too, but I managed that better than I expected and made my way to the hall. I had to lean against the doorway while I waited for my nurse escorts to come back and fetch me, but they didn’t take long. As we were lurching back – me lurching, them trying to help but finding me less than willing to be led – I mentioned my flapping free nethers. One of the nurses said “oh, let me close that as you walk”. “s’okay” I slurred, “we are under no illusions here…I gives nary a fuck.” and I made my way back to my recovery bed, affording the 3 people who had not seen my ass previously, a full show.

Good times.




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