Nov 30

 Sleep is all over the show.

It seems one side effect of all this is that I've lost the absolute compulsive need to sleep all hours of the day. For the moment at least, it has flipped. Now I am sleeping wayyyyy less. Tired. But not exhausted. Not sure my body knows what to make of it. Look ! We can keep going ! Let's keep going til we burn out ! Wheee !

Ah ha. Ha.

Headache has persisted. Like. Not shifted. For a moment. A perpetual headache since Monday. Right across the top of my head. Cough and it thumps like a hammer. Do anything and it thumps and makes you wince.

In the scale of things it's a "non event" compared to what I usually have. But it does mean that I am definitely not at my best. I mean. When am I ? But it makes doing anything critical a little... yeah.. no. It's a reminder if nothing else to take it easy.

Which to be fair the hospital kept telling me. Don't do this. Don't do that. No heavy lifting. No straining. DO YOU NEED A SICK NOTE.

Take. It. Easy.

Ok.

Also, slowly, my typical bullshit and ailments are creeping back into view. But it's still very different at the moment. They are less than what they were. Everything is dialled down. There. But less aggro. Less in your face about it. It's interesting. My sleep is better. My lungs are better - they're still a bit janky, but oh boy, I've gone from pumping every few hours on an asthma pump, to, eh, meh, it's fine, I'll do it once in the morning, once in the evening no super big shakes. My eyes are slowly getting punchy again. But it's way less pronounced. And they don't have that super dead tired on waking thing.

Biggest of all I don't have the soul sucking exhaustion on waking. Waking up has gone from being an effort of climbing out of the grave to a reasonably normal waking up kinda feeling. Which is an enormous change.

I'm still feeling my way through the shifts that are occurring. I am mindful that a lot of variables changed at once in the surgery. Oxygenated. Anaesthetised. Wound looked at. Pain killers up the wazoo. Circulation adjusted. Any or all of these could have had a profound effect on my status.

Haven't checked in on work.

Still smarting about it. Trying not to let it follow me around and do that whole quasi buddhist thing of letting shit go, and not letting someone elses fuckery end up being your own burden and stick you beat yourself with. Breathe. Release. Move on.

Always tricky. That whole life thing. Of where someone says something to you. Or does something. Or whatever it is. And perhaps for them it might even be a throwaway comment. Something they say in passing. You suck ! Then never think about again. But for you. You take it. Think about it. Feed it. Nurture it. And end up possibly spending days, weeks wrestling with it. In a very fucked up way, you take their piece of negativity, and then you end up using that to assault yourself with it over an extended time. When you break it down like that, it's utterly nuts. And shows you how damaging stuff can be. The answer is to put it down. Do not spend time with it and feed it. Do not waste your energy looking after other peoples fuckery that they have gifted to you. Instead. Ignore it. Their fuckery is on them. If they want to maintain it, that's up to them. But don't let them give you shit to poison yourself with. Better to reverse. Imagine they never said it. Or. That the person that is saying it or doing it is the worst kind of clown / villain / idiot. And treat accordingly.

In short. Don't take it to heart. But beyond that. Don't spend time dwelling on it for one second. Make a call. Put it down. Move on.

Easier said. But wise. I think.

The Coal of Negativity.

Perhaps one easy way to conceptualise is, to think of it like a hot coal. The hot coal is the burning piece of negativity. Possibly hurtful. Impossible to ignore. It burns. Someone has this piece of coal. Intended for you. Burning. Smouldering. And they hand it to you. Here. Have this. You Suck is printed on it. And then they leave it with you and walk off. For them. They're no longer thinking about that coal. Not carrying it. Don't feel it. They might even forget they ever gave it to you - or even that there even was a coal.

But for you. You're now holding this coal. It burns. It doesn't go out. You don't know what to do with it. So you carry it around with you. Always there. Always burning. Uncomfortable. No matter what you do. Whatever task you're doing. Where you go. You can feel it. Burning. In your pocket. In your hand. Setting fire to things. And you can't stop thinking about it. Because it will set fire to everything. So you take it out and look at it a lot. How dare someone give me this coal. What am I going to do with this coal now. Can I put it out. I don't deserve this coal. Or maybe I do. Perhaps this is my punishment.

And you spend huge amounts of time fiddling with that coal. Burning yourself on it. Pondering what to do with it. You may even add more to it in some fucked up attempt to "help". What if. I add more burning material to it ? Or you may even show it to others. Particularly if you've turned it into an immense bonfire at this point. Bring them into the coal thing. Look at this coal. This fire. It's burning my house down ! What should I do. You may even give a piece to them to look at. And think about themselves ( oh no ! ).

Put it down. Take it. Put it down in front of you on the floor. And walk away from it. The coal is not yours. It was given to you by someone else. You don't have to carry it with you. So put it down. Walk away. It's their coal. Not yours. Don't let their coal take over your life.

So. There you have it. Receive a lump of coal. Maybe check it out ( or not ). Then put it down. And leave it there. Do not make the mistake of taking it home with you. And double definitely do not make the mistake of giving a piece of it to someone else for them to also struggle with.

Poop dilemma.

Ok. Maybe this is funny. I think it probably is.

First. A little about me and poop. Because I know you really want to know.

I've always been a bit of a non public pooper. Call me anal retentive a bit perhaps. But. I've never been big on going out in public or being at work, and taking a shit. Conversely. I've worked with some legends that go out of their way to take at least one crap per day at work. Like a badge of honour. Getting paid to crap. Ok. But you know sometimes you look at someone and think, wow, I could never be like that. Yeah. I get that. I'm never gonna be that person high fiving people for taking a public dump.

For me personally the public poo is not a huge deal. But just something I've never felt the need to do. Oh my god, I absolutely need to poop now get out of my way.

So you get into a habit. Pooping at home. In comfort. Like some savage. Strip off. Whatever it takes.

There's also a bit of practicality to this in latter years where my ass has been a dubious prospect. The ghost of sepsis has been stalking me ever since I got this issue with my butt more than 4 years ago. Warned. In no uncertain terms. That the chances of infection are high. And the consequences of sepsis, lethal. Be vigilant. Keep clean.

So it follows that I have pretty much now fallen into a habit of always showering after a poop.

And. Just like bidet use. After a while you get used to being squeaky clean. And being anything other than squeaky clean feels a bit wrong. That being said. With my ass leaking on and off. I've also got blissfully unaware of when my ass is a swamp. After a while, the body stops alerting you and figures this must be the new normal.

Anywho. Whatever.

Day of hospital visit.

As ever with such things I am mindful of all the prep. Like some ADHD lunatic ( which I probably am ). Did you pee. Did you poop. Did you shower. Are you clean. Did you drink. Did you eat. Wallet. Keys. Clothes. Not those clothes. Those clothes. Everything. Has to be to a plan. And you get a vague anxiety that something has not gone to plan.

On the day. Didn't really need to poop.

Ok. Hmmm. Ok. 

Pooped a little.

Uh huh.

Get to the hospital. Waiting forever.

Now I need to poop.

Ok. This raises some interesting questions.

1) This is a public poop. On the scale of stuff I generally don't do, this is up there. I'm not super cool with this, but it's fine. Also. Don't care at this point, particularly at hospital, you do what you do. I have zero qualms about being in any kind of state in a hospital. I am particularly blase about whether I am naked, look like a lump or whatever.

2) What's the protocol here poop wise. They're going to rummage around up my ass. Should I endeavour to be completely poop free. Or. Conversely. Going. Or trying to go. Will just move everything "into place" and guarantee the surgeons have a bad time of it. What's. The advice here. Should I stay or should I go.

3) This is a ward. One loo. Multi people. All within arms reach. An apocalypse stench would go down like a lead balloon. Let's not hope it's that.

I dithered with the internal question.

I didn't need to go that badly. But. It did feel like it. But it also felt like it wasn't "in place". I considered it might be an idea to ask the nurse the most idiotic question ever. Hey. Do you think I should poo ?

Ah ha ha.

It's that whole make an idiot of yourself at hospital thing again, where last time, I wrestled with whether a pair of knickers was meant for my butt, or was a hat for my head. Getting it wrong one way or the other would result in hilarity.

I decided not to go. I'd hold it.

Ok.

Time shifts on.

I could do with pooping.

I debated my surroundings again.

Oh my god.

And how am I going to get squeaky clean in a hospital ? Will I now show up to surgery with scraggles. After thoughts.

Oh man.

On the one hand. I'm sure the nurses, doctors et al have seen everything and then some.

On the other hand. We're trying to be mindful here. And not treat them to shitmageddon.

I dithered again.

Perhaps I really should ask a nurse.

After a while of hilarious fence sitting, I decided to go.

Fumbled with the loo paper. Where. The. Fuck. Is the paper.

Sat down.

Can't go.

Oh for the love of christ.

I waited.

Eventually I had a half hearted poop.

Now it felt like it was worse. Half and half.

Sigh.

I diligently finished up, went back to sit in the ward, hoping that I didn't stink.

The nurse smiled sweetly at me.

Not sure this makes any of it better.

A little while later. My stomach gurgles.

Sigh.

I have no clue.

Eventually I was carted into surgery in a state of unknown poopage. I am not sure if they got an apocalpse of poo or nothing at all. For their part. They didn't say.

That there were pads, and leakage and blood and all sorts, for sure. Because some of it was stuck to my ass - which the nurse in the ward dutifully peeled off me at one point. And you could see. Well. That looks gloopy.

In the end it was all smooth.

I was probably doing my anxiety dance over nothing. Just trying to be a conscientious soul and biting my nails about it. Looking like an idiot and humiliating myself I am little concerned about. That's fine. Making an idiot of yourself, and, learning how to cope with that, is an important part of life I think ( it also helps I find to not let yourself get too much of an inflated sense of ego and therefore come down to earth as an idiot once in a while - does the soul good ). Whilst I'm ok looking like an idiot, being a burden on someone else however is a big old line I do not like crossing. So yeah. I'm gonna angst about what my poop state is, so I dont make it your problem.

I will say after surgery I didn't need to poop.

Not sure if that's ominous or not.

Poop during surgery.

In any case, I had little say about it. Zonked out. What happens. Happens.

Or perhaps.

What happens in surgery, stays in surgery.

I'm still fairly impressed by the business like way those kind of health professionals just deal with shit. Literally. Nurses have my utmost respect for being the most mature of people out there when it comes to dealing with human bodies. No ick factor. No immature ewwww. Just. Get on with it. Yeah. That happens. I mean. This is my reaction too. I am not icked out by stuff. I find it, not exactly annoying, but, immature, exasperating, when others run around like 5 year olds squealing or wretching over some ick. Like a spoiled fop. Quit yer whining. Roll up your sleeves. And help. So. I super appreciate the business like manner nurses bring to the table. Peeling crap off my ass without a flinch ? 5/5. Good person. Rate highly.

I find it weirdly. Attractive.

Which is hilarious. I think it's less about having a kink about it. And more about just being attracted to maturity. And turned off by immaturity.

And on a weird tangent don't get me started about how immature Americans are about this shit. The most pampered eww mongers of them all. I often come across it. I swear they have a fucked up education / culture in the US. Nuts.