Lydia’s Blog

Yesterday (like most days recently), I’m been moved by boredom to read up a bit on the operation I’ve just had, from which I’m currently recovering (read, depositing liters of pus onto my pillowcase at night).

I’m not a me day kind of girl. A great old friend of mine, Marcie was the queen of me days and nights and hours and afternoons. She had an amazing stash of bath salts and oils and scrubs and aromatic this and that and who knows but I was sad it wasn’t edible. She had this great ablilty to say “Okay, fuck you guys…YOU drive out to that nasty club in Cleveland, it’s gonna be a me night.” The next day, we’d all look like cigarette-reeking, blue-ringed, bloodshot shit, but sure enough Marcie…she’d be ruddy, and glowing and smelling like a Rainbow Bright safari.

It is simply not on my menu. Cruel coincidence also saw my cell phone contract running out two days after getting into the hospital…leaving me incommunicado (via phone) as well as injured, bloated and useless. My Mom and boyfriend are here, which is wonderful, but also serves to compound my sense of constitutional castration. My boyfriend isn’t allowed to touch me, and my mom isn’t allowed to pick fights with me. They just cook and get me tea and watch movies on the computer with me.

Anyway. As I said…I was reading up on this operation yesterday. I suppose everything would seem slightly less insulting if it weren’t made so apparent, via internet literature on the subject, that mine is a condition generally seen in very young children.

Okay. Adenoids. Most people’s disappear by the time they’re seven. Not mine. They just hung out like two great unwanted facial testicles, cutting off my eustachian tubes until adulthood. The websites are even more frustrating. “After the surgery, your Mommy might take you out for Ice Cream! And just think…when you talk, it won’t sound like your nose is pinched anymore!”

Well, to be sure, my Mommy did take me out for Ice Cream, but that’s not the buttfucking point, is it?

I also have to wear a little piece of head gear that looks like a pirate’s eye patch gone lost (and then found…over the ear). We stuff it full of gauze every night and morning to catch the still impressive amount of pus dripping out.

I wear a huge bandana to cover the eye-patch-gone-lost…and also my hair, which I haven’t been able to wash now for a week. It is one itchy, stinky scalp. Shaving the head is now in serious consideration.

So, I find myself wandering around my apartment in what is essentially an enormous bonnet, recovering embarassingly slowly from a child’s operation, being handled with kid gloves by the two people in my life who usually aren’t afraid to give me heaps of shit.

My one joy comes from the one or two times a day when we leave the apartment, and all of the bitchy, way-too-cool-for-you Germans in my neighborhood bend over backwards to be nice to me…thinking I have cancer.

Abe calls it the Kylie effect.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, May 16th, 2006 at 1:51 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.