Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Not so much

Well, apparently Percoset also makes me forget the Fridays Rock! post I promised you. Sorry 'bout that.

I'm back at work today, trying to shake off the remnants of The Week We'd Prefer To Forget, If It's All The Same To You. A week ago today, we were driving back from our long, lovely weekend at the shore. Then all hell broke loose, I lost a bunch of days (I do vaguely remember writing a few blog posts), and yesterday we found ourselves back at the LHRMI so Mr. B could participate in their annual Scalp Collection Drive.

I'll spare you the play-by-play, but we left home at 5:50 am and returned ten hours later with Mr. B looking like he was hit by a bus. Seriously. He looks like a cross between Massive Head Wound Harry and, as he puts it, 'someone's aborted attempt to construct a Borg in their garage.'

I'm not sure what's more impressive, the 3" wad of sponge STAPLED TO HIS SCALP or the 4" x 12" strip of skin missing from his left thigh. Hell, in comparison with that carnage, the wounds from the four lymph nodes they removed down the left side of his head and neck are hardly worth mentioning.

He even let me take pix, which I will link to as soon as I get them posted somewhere*. I didn't think it was fair to spring them on you without warning.

I'm emotionally exhausted, physically sore, and probably suffering the ass end of a drug hangover. I'm resisting (so far) the urge to curl up in a ball in the corner of my office and simply disappear for a few weeks. That space right between the bookcase and the back wall would be perfect.

*Update: I'm going to keep the photos private, but friends and family can email me if they want a link. There are two pix and they are relatively, ahem, tasteful.


  1. We're going to post those? Must we? I think they need an appropriate Appetite Suppressant warning from the The Surgeon General: "...Be prepared to skip a meal."

    I go in on Friday to, as I understand it, to get the staples removed and have something done with my thigh. Suddenly lots and lots of gauze is seeming stylish.

    Typing on Percocet requires lots and lots of concentration. I apologize for any sentences that fail to parse.


  2. You're doing fine, Sweetie. And I won't post them. I keep forgetting that the blogosphere might not find this as fascinating as I do.


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