bunion-a-tude-a-thon day 405: the bunion has left the building

Bunion Voyage Party, I mean Surgery, 9/10/14, 8:45 am. New England Baptist Surgical Center

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A last look at my bunion right out of bed. Yeah, that bad boy has got to go. And by the way, you can’t wear toe nail polish because they look at your toes for oxygen or something. I don’t know, what am I a doctor? All I know, if I haven’t not had nail polish on my toes in like 10 years. And I don’t like it a bit.

After taking 2 milligrams of Valium last night, and eating a perfect last bunion supper, consisting of a shake shack cheese burger and fries, i actually fell into a deep sleep around 10. I woke up at 5 am and was dying for coffee, but instead popped another 2 milligrams of Valium and got dressed. We arrived at the New England Baptist surgical center in Dedham, where every receptionist and nurse looked like they were filming a Crest commercial. I signed all the paper work, plus a health care proxy, mentioning to the receptionist that my burial outfit should consist solely of sexy Jimmy Choo’s or knock me over, fuck me, Monolo’s. (Just in case my family hadn’t taken note.)

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6:30 arrival. I’m a vision with my no make-up, wonky hair look, Good God and it’s fashion week (welp, not in Dedham).

I went into my own little cubby, where literally everybody that passed by me was giving me teeth. I was seriously curious if the whole staff got some sort of drugs in the break room, and I wanted in.  I got all checked in, changed into the lovely scrubs, had a training session with crutches, where I was pronounced a “rock star” (they gave you kudos’ for breathing in this place, which was just fine with me). Finally Doctor Cullen came by, and told me he did a warm-up surgery before mine, and greeted me by saying, “Well, look at who’s here.” I suppose he was referring to the fact that I’d been talking about having surgery with him for a solid decade and finally was. I walked into the operating room, which was freezing, and made me wonder if I had by accidentally stumbled into a morgue. I started getting the Michael Jackson drug in my IV and the next thing I knew I was awake and asking how I did. I went to my recovery cubby, gobbled down some crackers, and drank some ginger ale, and was stunned by my lack of pain. Another absurdly nice nurse took care of me, including bringing me a rose from the hospital (way to go, NEB, flowers will get your EVERYWHERE). I walked on crutches to the bathroom without a problem. Dr.Cullen swung by and told me I did really well, and that my bone took the screw beautifully. I got in the car with no problem, stopped at Dunkin’ for coffee (because America crutches on Dunkin’), and Finagle a Bagel for bagels and cream cheese (because I rarely eat them, but AM IN DEEP PASSIONATE LOVE WITH THEM, and you should eat something you love when you’re getting part of your foot chopped off). I flopped onto the couch when I arrived home, got a big furry welcome from Riley, a visit and flowers from my sister and brother-in-law and three other friends popped over, who also brought flowers and treats. Peter overcooked (exactly how I like ’em) my everything bagel and slathered on the cream cheese, and with my coffee, a new series, The Chair–a contest between two film makers making the same film–I began my recovery.

The boot is sort of heavy, and sleeping wasn’t that easy, but I still have the nerve block, so no pain. And I’d like to say right here, I could marry that nerve block and live happily ever after. I do have some odd discoloration on my calf, which began blotching and itching last night, but Cortaid to the rescue. I’ll mention it to the doctor today, but thinking that it might be from applying cold packs directly to my skin, which good patient that I am, I did every 30 minutes yesterday, until bed.

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Rocking the scrubs and groovy surgical hat! Wait, maybe it is fashion week in Dedham.

 

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They mark your foot before you go in, so they don’t make a mistake. I wanted them to write “fuck you.”

 

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And immediately post-surgery in my little cubby, blood pressure cup and NO PAIN.
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And there’s das boot. It’s sort of heavier than I’d imagined. Look at the other sock. I tried it on both ways, and it just didn’t fit. They need to do something about those.
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Home by 1:00. Ready to recover.

 

My bunion and the impending surgery I knew I would have to have at some point has literally, HONESTLY been on my “to do” list for approximately 15 years. Last night when I woke up, IT WASN’T, well I mean, I had a giant boot on my leg resting on a pile of pillows, so it was, but not in the same way. I have some disbelief and elation that I was finally able to make this choice (I was really not able to make it for all those years, despite trying very hard), that I’ve done it, and that now I’m on the road to recovery (of being able to exercise and shoe shop). I’m sure it might get more painful as the days pile up, but right now, grati-fucking-tude for everything that’s gone right. Buh-bye bunion. Hope the knife hit you in the ass on the way out the door.

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