I know, I know. I’m the worst blogger on the planet. Not because of my content, no, I remain as entertaining as ever. My crime is posting far too infrequently. But when I tell you why, all will be forgiven. This I know for sure.
Some of you know this about me already: I’ve not been blessed with a spine worth a damn. How and why this old body has reached such an advanced state of decrepitude is not immediately clear. Well, I suppose, a giraffe spine somehow stuffed into a middle-aged woman’s skinny yet flabby carcass, what chance did I really have? Bottom line: on June 16th I got naked, was knocked unconscious by a complicated drug cocktail then flipped onto a fancy table with my arse in the air while a handsome, cocky as hell neurosurgeon got busy with a scalpel, screws, rods, and staples.
This whole mess began in 1995 with the first surgery in St. John’s, then another in London, Ontario, a third in Halifax, and now this one in Victoria, B.C., home of the worst medical system I’ve experienced yet in Canada (despite my surgeon being a helpful and highly skilled individual). It’s my coast-to-coast neurosurgery tour: Bobbi & the Back Stabbers, all I need are the T-shirts.
It was a bit of a rough go at first, what with the allergic reaction to the antibiotics complete with skin blisters, as well as four straight nights with not a moment of sleep. Then came the embedded staples, the removal of which was a bit traumatic. I wound up in the surgeon’s office for this as my GP was out of town. It involved a fair bit of rip and tug, and just as I was looking for a stick to bite down on I heard the surgeon ask kindly, “Are you okay?” I was not at all okay and I turned to tell him so when I saw that he was actually talking to Neil, who I’d forgotten was in the room. Neil, in a state unlike I’d ever seen him, green and pasty, managed to croak out, “Do you need me here?” After he was quickly banished, the surgeon said, “A bit delicate is he?” Hardly. This is a man who has been putting on my underwear for weeks now. He’ll be doing toenails and leg shaving until December. He’s as tough as they come. And this is what marriage vows are actually for.
Now I’m sort of bed bound; strict orders to avoid any bending, lifting, and twisting for at least three months with caution for a good six. I can sit but only for as long as it takes to eat a meal, which means a haircut is out. You should see the hair, Einstein is the word that comes to mind.
I’m the most bored I have ever been in my entire life. It feels like every day is 49 hours long. I’ve watched every piece of crap on offer on Netflix including a binge watch of every episode of Orange is the New Black, way grittier than anything I usually take in. I knew I was in too deep when Neil asked me how my day was going and all I could say was, “Bitches be CRAAAAZZY!”
If there’s anything good to be taken from this whole debacle it’s perspective on what’s next for us. Given the reality of my back, it might be good to get back to reality a little. But first I have to survive this seemingly endless test of my impatient nature. I’m doing all that I’m supposed to, behaving myself on all counts (I’ve always been very good in bed), but honestly, it’s a mild form of torture to lay about this much. If only my body healed as fast as my mind warps.
Anyhootie, enough about me. What’s on your back lately?