Sunday, April 15, 2007


This is the first time I have had surgery of any kind on me and therefore, my first post-operative days. Any sane adult would know how important post-operative care is...but the only sane adult is my four year old dog. Of course my parents called up to see how I was doing, but they are a little far away to be able to take care of me. Over here in Jacksonville, humanity seems to have gone cold, just like the gale force winds today. The weather seems to have taken a bad turn and has gone windy and cold...and has blown some common sense (usually an uncommon trait among humans) away from my friends.

The pain killer is supposed to make me drowsy, but my mind is not ready to let go yet. So, instead of thinking about 10 things at once, I prefer to write them down to structure my thoughts. Lets see, Sven took a few hours off form work last Friday to be able to take care of me after the surgery. He waited while I was in surgery, listened to my mumbling after the surgery, bought me my medicine and a pack of gatorades, dropped me home. This was more than anything I could ask anyone for. I don't mean to make this a formality, but I thank you Sven.

I had called up a friend to be at my apartment after my surgery for a few hours, who agreed at first, then refused. I don't think that was too much to ask for. If someone you know has three teeth surgerically taken out, and by that I mean that the doctor had to cut through the gum and break two wisdom teeth internally and take the pieces out, then sow the gum back, wouldn't you at least show up at that person's house just to say, "Hi! We thought that maybe, just maybe, you are in some pain and we came over to see how you are." Of course, I got a phone call to ask how I am doing. I am on medication, I am drowsy, my mouth hurts, how do you think I am doing? I said I am doing fine....fine for someone who has stitches on both insides of their lower jaw. What a fcuking joke! Anyway, they being true friends remembered to send me a scrap on Orkut to see how my weekend is going. Wow, I am touched.

Being even luckier than the average Joe, my room mate happens to be one of my best friends and colleague at work too. Eddie is his puppy. Don't get me wrong, I love Eddie, but taking care of him when I am drugged up is a little too much to ask for, isin't it? Here is a little history. He is a marine, discharged. He had his wisdom (all four) taken out at the Marines...with one anesthetic injection at each tooth, and a ball-pin hammer and a chisel. No jokes. So, to him, I have had a fairy-tale extraction and should be normal within 24 hrs of the surgery. I wake up, all drugged up Sunday afternoon, and see both the dogs, his and mine, playing in the living room, making a mess. Now, I am not in the condition to take Laya out for walks, even though she is perfect on the leash, let alone his hard-headed beagle. All I can say is WTF! He did not ask me to take care of his dog, but leaving Eddie out like this is wrong too. I understand that these days were critical for him to kick-off his love life, but damn son, it is a little bit too much to ask. To his defense, he got me ice cream and that is the only hour I ever saw him over the whole weekend. I weep in my heart when I see all this concern!

I don't mean to be a coward and just blog my anger. I will probably confront my 'friends' when I am a little more myself and not drugged up like this. The pain killer is still not working and I can feel this knot in my lower left jaw. WTF!

Laya is the only one that has been a true friend to me. She gets up and sits by my feet while I am up at odd hours of the night typing furiously at the keyboard, venting out to blogspot. She comes over and puts her head on my lap, looks at me with soul-full eyes, re-affirming that she loves me no matter what. I am convinced she understands my pain and is trying to show affection. She is not upset why I am keeping to myself and not petting her enough. I'd chose her over any of my human friends any day.

The real deal is that experiences like these happen to a lot of 'independent' people, and make them more and more impregnable to emotions. I see myself going that route and I want to stop and be dependent on someone. Not because I am weak, but because it is foolish to think that I (or you) can be completely independent. Humans are just not bred that way. It can be said with a high likely hood, that I will not have any expectations the next time I go in for a medical procedure, but is that right? Will I wrongfully insult my true friends by not asking for help and support? Maybe yes. But it is times like these that you know who will stand by you for sure when the shit hits the fan, and who will duck. All I can do is to thank God for throwing some shit my way.

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