Poke me, baby

One of the things that stressed me the most about having jaw surgery was the possibility that there would be nerve damage, leaving my chin and lower lip numb for a year or perhaps forever. My orthodontist told me the likelihood of permanent nerve damage increases with your age. As a 32-year-old undergoing the surgery, I had a 32% chance of permanent numbness.

That didn't sound fun. I mean, I have fabulous lips and I know how to use them. Like I don't want to feel it when the hot, sexy Superstar bites my lower lip while we're making out? This prospect was thoroughly unacceptable and made me determined to be in the 68% of people who regain full feeling in their lips and chin.

So, I did what I've done with pretty much everything surrounding this surgery: obsessive-compulsive research, or OCR for short. I found a number of homeopathic and natural remedies to help reduce inflammation and nerve pain, and I investigated acupuncture to help rejuvenate nerves.

I also stalked jaw surgery survivors. A friend had the surgery in her 40s and ended up with permanent nerve damage in her chin. When she finally discovered acupuncture, which helped her get some of the feeling back, the practitioner told her that he could have helped her get all of it back...if she had only come to him one month after the surgery, instead of one year later.

Some sharp needles in my face vs. not being a full participant in raunchy make-out sessions = easy decision. I made the appointment for two weeks after the surgery. Stat.

You talkin' to me?
Can you tell I took this shot myself?

I had gone for acupuncture before, with mixed results. One practitioner took on too many patients. So many that she made her storage closet into a treatment room. You'd be lying on the table, immobile (because needles were piercing various body parts, and moving would shoot pain up your limbs), and someone would walk in, reach up to pull something off the shelf above your head, and leave. And then someone else would do the same a few minutes later. She was also so busy that she'd forget needles in you. I stopped going to her after discovering a large needle in my ankle and having to pull it out myself.

The other practitioner I saw could barely speak English. She had such a heavy Chinese accent that the majority of conversations with her involved the phrases, "What?" "Excuse me?" and "I'm sorry, I don't understand," as well as a fair bit of gesticulating. I don't know about you, but when someone is coming at you with a handful of sharp needles, it kind of helps to know what they're saying.

Regarding the acupuncture itself, both of the practitioners I saw were great at it and their treatments helped me feel a lot better. But when you've got a broken jaw, you just want to go to someone you're comfortable with. Fortunately, my new naturopath also practices acupuncture. I was relieved to discover this, as I really liked her, even though her elimination diet had nearly pushed me over the edge the last time I saw her.

A great up-the-nose shot.
But you can see all the homeopathic and natural remedies in the background.

Plus, I have a cute nose, right?

I usually find acupuncture really relaxing. I go into a meditative state, and sometimes, I feel like I am levitating out of my body. Not this time, though, because my naturopath and I were goofing around with my camera, trying to get a shot that showed the needles in my face. The facial acupuncture needles are even thinner than the regular kind, so it was really hard to get them to show up in pictures.

Finally, we got a good one!

When she took the needles out from behind my ears, it was the strangest sensation - it felt like they were still there. I rubbed my skin, concerned that this was acupuncture déjà vu all over again, when she said, "Does it feel like they're still there? That means the chi is working."

I didn't know what that meant. But all I knew was that two weeks after my surgery, I had about 75% of the feeling back in my chin and lower lip. In the days following the acupuncture treatment, my feeling came back rapidly. By the one month post-surgery mark, I had 95% of it back, and today, I would say that I'm at about 98%.

Am I going back to get more needles stuck into me? Hells yes!

21st century wireless gal

Now where was I? Ah, yes, I left off at the part of the story where my jaw was wired shut. That kinda sucked, didn't it? Don't worry, sweet Internets. The wired Savia only lasted two weeks. I'm one of the lucky ones - some jaw surgery patients are wired for six weeks. I can't even imagine.

When I left the hospital, the nurse gave me wire cutters and told me I had to carry them with me AT ALL TIMES. Sorry for the use of the capital letters there, but they were very serious about this point. I even had to sign a document promising that I would carry them AT ALL TIMES.

I knew they weren't to be used if you were throwing up. (Apparently, you're supposed to use your fingers to open up your lips, bend over, and let the vomit run out from between your teeth. Mmmmmm. Fun.) I assumed their only use would be if your airway were obstructed or you weren't breathing and someone needed to perform CPR.

Savia: So, how do you use these?
Nurse: I don't know.
Savia: I should know how to use them if I have to carry them at all times, don't you think?
Nurse: I'll ask and find out.

I think I was the first person to ask this question. That's kind of disturbing, when you think about it. How many jaw surgery patients are carrying these things around with no real idea of what to do with them?

Nurse: You just give them to the paramedics if something happens to you.
Savia: Uh...okay.
Nurse: We've never known of anyone who's actually had to use them before.
Savia: But what if I need to?
Nurse: Just get in there and start cutting everything.
Savia: Alrighty then.

The infamous wire cutters that no one uses.

As you can imagine, I was not going to miss carrying those things around in my purse. Their very existence reminded me that I was in a precarious position, choking wise. Something I'd rather not think about when my jaw's wired shut for two weeks.

Other things I was not going to miss: crazy concoctions made in the blender that, more often than not, turned out to be very unappealing; talking through clenched teeth; and finessing one of my pills, which couldn't be crushed up, through the tiny space behind my back teeth so I could swallow it.

But then, the magical day came. The day I got with the 21st century and went wireless (thanks for that turn of phrase, Wench.)

Superstar had gone to plug the meter just before I got called into the office, so I held the camera up as the surgeon cut the wires and took all these pictures myself. My surgeon asked, "You can take those all by yourself?" My response: "Trust me, when you're as narcissistic as I am, you become very good at taking pictures of yourself!"

The first cut is the sweetest.

Get that finger in there. Good times.

He also had to cut the rubber bands that were over the wires.
Those snapped back something fierce.

At least he knows what to do with the wire cutters.

Can you tell I'm having fun here?

It was a very involved process and went on for awhile.

Also, it kinda hurt.

Except delete the word "kinda."

Freeeeeeeedoooooooommmmmmmmm!!!!

It was a very weird feeling to have those wires off for the first time. It was actually uncomfortable. My jaw was sore and I could barely open my mouth. If you look at my mouth in the above picture, that was literally as far as I could open it after being unwired. It felt really unstable. At that moment, I would have been quite happy had he said he was putting the wires back on.

But then, he gave me a toothbrush and some paste and told me to brush.

And the heavens opened and there was much rejoicing. Because let me tell you - not being able to brush the backs of your teeth for two weeks straight = downright disgusting. My tongue had been brushing up against a layer of fuzz for a week at least, so brushing was a higher priority than being able to eat.

My teeth just after unwiring and before brushing.
Pretty gross, hey?

I brushed for about 20 minutes to get all the stains off. At first, I couldn't even fit the toothbrush into my mouth to get at the backs of the teeth. But I was determined to get that gunk off, so I held my jaw and pressed the bristles against my lower teeth until some of them went on the other side. It was the best feeling in the word. I was so relieved once I was done.

It was then that I realized - I can talk! (So, I babbled the surgeon's head off.) And then it dawned on me - hey, I can eat! (So, I stopped talking and got the hell out of the office so we could go for lunch.)

Now we know Savia's hierarchy of needs: Brushing, Talking, Eating.

Superstar and I grabbed Diva and went to my favourite Mexican restaurant in Cosmopolos to eat My First Meal As Someone Who Can Open Her Mouth. I was still not allowed to chew anything, so I had to get something soft and mushy. I ordered the mexi dip, which is refried beans, fresh salsa and cheese baked in a tortilla shell. And I ate that mo-fo with a spoon and a side of guacamole and sour cream.

And it was sublime.

Ravenous reading

Theresa over at My Fairbanks Life has passed this meme along. I think it's her secret plan to keep interviewing me, this time about books. Ah, who am I to complain? I love talking about myself, in all its forms!

1) What book are you reading right now?
Book? Singular? Mah ha ha. Sorry, but that's unpossible. There is a stack of books on my nightstand because, apparently, I have ADD.

No, that's not true. Okay, it's kind of true. But the reason for the stack is that some of the books are very intense and I can't always deal with reading them. So, I alternate, depending on my state of mind/psyche at the time. So, on any given day, I could be reading:

1. Cruddy by Lynda Barry. This was lent to me by Schmutzie and Palinode. It's about a girl who writes about her traumatic childhood with humour and humanity. I'm about a quarter of the way through and I'm enjoying it so far. It has pictures. This is my "light read" at the moment.
   
   
2. On Beauty by Zadie Smith. I loved White Teeth, her first novel (a paper I wrote on it got me invited to an international conference, so how could I not love it?) and I also loved Howard's End, a book that heavily influences On Beauty. I'm only a sixth of the way through this one, but, as always, I love Smith's style and sense of humour. This is my "intellectual fun read."
   
   
3. Healing Sex: A Mind-Body Approach to Healing Sexual Trauma by Staci Haines. I first read about this book on Feministing where they published an interview with the author. The book is aimed at women who are survivors of childhood sexual abuse. The focus is on healing, both physically and psychologically, the disconnect and pain that negatively affects our sex lives into adulthood. I'm about halfway through, and it's already been helpful for me to read the stories and experiences of other women who have lived through this. It's nice to know I'm not alone in the fact that the sexual abuse continues to affect me now, 28 years later. This is a book I cannot pick up every night, for obvious reasons. Heavy shit.
   
   
4. The Feeling Good Handbook by David D. Burns. This is a workbook that teaches people to use cognitive behavioural therapy on themselves to help take control of depression and anxiety and have healthier relationships with others. I'm about halfway through it, but again, it's heavy stuff. You have to do some digging and face things about yourself that may be difficult to deal with, and also concentrate on changing some of the thoughts and actions that seem automatic to you. It's hard work. I haven't picked it up in months, but it remains on my nightstand, just in case the spirit moves me.

Other books on the nightstand that I have yet to crack open:

• Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay (A get well gift from Schmutzie and Palinode)
  
• Insect Lives: Stories of Mystery and Romance from a Hidden World by Erich Hoyt and Ted Schultz (Potential thesis research)
• Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia by Elizabeth Gilbert (I'm told it's a good read. She had me at Italy.)
  
• A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller, Jr. (A gift from Orpheus, who knows of my love for dystopian literature.)
• Happier: Learn the Secrets to Daily Joy and Lasting Fulfillment by Tal Ben-Shahar. (My brother lent it to me. It's a book on positive psychology. I'm all over that.)
• The Gathering by Anne Enright (A Christmas gift from Superstar's dad.)
  

2) What was the last book you read on a plane?
I Am America (And So Can You!) by Stephen Colbert, on the way home from Superstar's mother's funeral.

3) What was the last book you read on a roadtrip?
Road trips are for singing and dancing in the car, not for reading. Also, I'm a princess. I don't do road trips if there's a plane anywhere nearby.

4) What is the most unusual place you found yourself reading?
I was once so enthralled with a book that I read it while driving my car, book on the steering wheel in front of me. Kids, please do not try this at home.

5) What books would you take to keep you occupied on a two week vacation to the beach?
Remember that stack of unread and half-read books on my nightstand? Those.

6) Other bloggers I'd like some book recommendations from (i.e. pay the meme forward):

• Schmutzie
• Diva
• Abigail
• Wench
  

A little self-wanking never hurt anyone

Both Schmutzie and Paige Stanton tagged me for this meme, which I think is pretty damn cool. Makes me feel loved. And also makes me go through my archives and say, "Huh? I wrote that, hey?"

So, here goes:

The meme's rules:

1. Go through your archives and link to five of your favourite posts that you have written.

• Link one must be a post about family.
• Link two must be a post about friends.
• Link three must be a post about yourself.
• Link four must be a post about something you love.
• Link five can be a post about anything you choose.

2. Tag five other people to do this meme. Two of them must be people you already know so that you can get to know each other better.

Postie post post...

Family: Ghosts of Christmases Past
Friends: Ode to Schmutzie
Moi: Body Image
Love: Rocking the Rock Chick
Wild Card: Incestuous Italian Cousin Lesbian Porn

Taggie tag tag...

Theresa from My Fairbanks Life
Nat from ...and sometimes why
Palinode from In Palinode's Palace
Bipolar Lawyer Cook
Deb from Deb on the Rocks

X marks the jaw

I'm still working on all of my post-jaw surgery entries, but I thought meanwhile, you'd be interested to see the inside of my face once again. Because who doesn't want to see that?

So, here are some after and before X-rays for your viewing pleasure.

The first one is the after-surgery X-ray.
You can't see a huge difference in the bite from pre- to post-surgery in this shot, but you will notice the surgical hooks between each of my braces in the post-surgery shot as well as the three screws the surgeon put in either side of my jaw.

It's still hard for me to believe that I have screws in my face.

I'm permanently screwed.

Hah.

Moving on...

Again, post-surgery is up first. You can see the screws in my jaw here as well. You'll also notice that my teeth fit together better than before, and if you look very closely from one to the other, there has been a slight shift in my chin.

My profile is a bit stronger and my chin is a bit further out.

It's subtle. The surgeon only moved my lower jaw forward 4 mm, but every day as the swelling goes down, I notice more changes. It's kind of neat, really. How often can you see your face transform before your very eyes?

32 Reasons

It's Superstar's 32nd birthday on Monday (You hear that, baby? 32. The same age as me. I'm your "geriatric lover", my ass!) The date snuck up on me, because I have been so preoccupied with the whole broken jaw dealie.

I mean, I've had the presents tucked away for awhile now, I'm arranging a birthday supper with Schmutzie and Palinode and I am going to make Bipolar Lawyer Cook's amazing chocolate truffles for his family's celebration tomorrow night. (Shhh. Don't tell!) But I wanted to do more than that. I wanted to do something really special. Something that would let him know just how much he means to me.

So, I wrote this list.

32 Reasons Why I Heart Superstar

1. While I'm downstairs getting ready for the night, he lies on my side of the bed so that it will be nice and warm when I crawl in.
   


2. He is so sweet to my dog and calls her his "little love rat" in a ridiculous voice every time he sees her. She loves him. Come to think of it, all animals do.
   
   
   
3. When we go into stores, he chats and jokes around with the clerks, and when we leave restaurants, he says, "Thanks for the hospitality!" to the servers on our way out.
   


4. He learned to knit so he could make me a Christmas stocking. He wasn't able to complete it this year, but the part he did finish was very well done.
   
   
5. He has the softest, sweetest lips. And he knows how to use them.
   
   
   
6. He is a music junkie and can't go into a music store without spending $100 on CDs. He has more than 700 in his collection. He has introduced me to all kinds of artists I would never have known otherwise. I can't wait to go to concerts with him.
   
   
7. He is the most open-minded and non-judgemental person I've met. He accepts and loves me for who I am, neuroses and all. I never have to pretend with him. He even continues to hang out with me after I do things like this in public:
   
   
   Those are Pop Rocks on my tongue, in case anyone is wondering.
   
   Also, that's a wig. I'd never have bangs that short, FYI.
   I may be shameless, but I still have standards.
   
   
8. He loves back scratches just as much as blow jobs. In fact, slightly more.
   
   
9. When I'm drifting off to sleep he'll say, "You know what?" I'll respond, "What?" Then he'll say, "I love you, you know." Last night, while he was drifting off to sleep, I said, "You know what?" "What?" he responded. "I love you exactly for who you are," I said. "Really?" he said, "Because I love you for who I want you to be." God, he makes me laugh so hard.
   
   
   
10. He is over-the-top, fearless, shameless, and will do anything for a laugh. At the end of his niece's elementary school Christmas concert, he jumped out of his seat and started shouting (and I mean shouting) "Bravo! Bravo! Come on people, let's give them a standing ovation!!" He was the only one standing and shouting in the school gym at 1:30 in the afternoon. After awhile, though, a lady across the aisle stood up to join in his ovation. I tried to pretend I didn't know him but secretly admired his enthusiasm.
    
    
11. He moved from what is probably the most beautiful place in Canada to cold, windy Saskatchewan so we could finally be together.
    
    
    
12. He is everyone's favourite uncle and is wonderful with kids. He is one of those people who never lost their inner child. He'll make an incredible dad someday. He makes my uterus tick.
    
    
13. He is the definition of a Renaissance Man. I don't think there's anything he can't do.
    
    
    
14. When my jaw was wired shut, he would show up on my doorstep with chai lattes, hot chocolate and lots of big, warm hugs. I love the way I fit into his arms.
    
    
15. No matter what he tries to sing, it always comes out sounding like a lounge song.
    
    
    
16. He is this walking contradiction. A big, burly 6'4" man who is also sweet and sensitive. Manly and childlike. Strong and artsy. Intense and irreverent. He's an outdoorsy "society is the devil" kind of hippie who is also hooked on Starbucks...wait for it...Grande Non-Fat No Whip Half-Sweet White Mochas. It makes me giggle each time he orders it. And roll my eyes when I he sends me on a coffee run and I have to order it on his behalf.
    
    
17. The first phone message he ever left me made me cry because it was so sweet and sincere.
    
    
18. He has no ass. It's kind of cute, really.
    
    
    
19. He is very close with his family, who are some of the most kind, interesting, loving, wonderful people I have ever met.
    
    
20. He always obliges when I ask him for a massage or back rub.
    
    
21. He's a great sport. He let me give him a facial even though I suck at it.
    
    
    
22. When he goes to the store and is given change, he tosses his pennies on the ground at random intervals as he walks down the street. "I'm giving other people good luck!" he says.
    
    
23. I asked him to eat a bug once and he actually did. I was thrilled. Then he complained about the sour cream and onion seasoning on the bug. He thought it was disgusting. But the bug itself, apparently, was fine.
    
    
    
24. He has an impeccable memory and never has to write anything down. He is also very observant, noticing the little details I always miss.
    
    
25. He actively looks for the beauty in the world around him.
    
    
26. He looks like a different person in every picture he's in. Sometimes, it's hard for me to remember what he looks like. Then, when I see him again, my legs turn to jelly.
    
    
27. Best. Sex. Ever.
    
    
28. After any meal, no matter where we are, he gets up, clears the table, and does all the dishes, before anyone asks for help. The woman running the bed and breakfast we stayed at on our second date had no idea what to do with him.
    
    
29. He has sexy legs.
    
    


30. I never thought I would be able to say that a penis is beautiful. But his is. [Unfortunately, photo unavailable.]
    


31. Every day with him is an adventure. It never gets dull, because he's constantly surprising me and challenging me to grow as a person.
    


32. I've never met anyone like him before, and I don't think I ever will again. I have never laughed or loved so hard. I feel honoured to have him in my life.
    
    

It was hard to whittle this list down to a mere 32 reasons why I adore this man. There are so many more, from the little daily things that make me beam to the big things that make him a person of integrity, unconditional love and all around sexy hotness.

Happy Birthday, Superstar. I hope our next year together will be even more amazing than the last.

I love you.

Through the wire

Kanye West recorded the song "Through the Wire" with his jaw wired shut. Good for him. As for me, I was just happy to get some tidbits of food through that wire. Rapping was the last thing on my mind.

I know I'm Little Savia Sunshine about my jaw surgery and all, but I won't lie: eating with your jaw wired shut sucks. And I use that term figuratively, not literally, because I was so swollen I couldn't even suck anything through a straw.

When I was in the hospital, I ate with the aid of this little prop:

Surprisingly, this device was not used to impregnate anyone.
Even though the antibiotics had rendered my birth control pills impotent.

That syringe was my lifeline. I would suck the liquid/mush through the tube, and then squirt it into the side of my mouth. In the hospital, they fed me things like meal replacement drinks, juice, pudding, cream of wheat, soup, etc. And then I had friends like Diva, who smuggled in Booster Juice and watched me suck it through the syringe, remarking, "Awwww....you look like a gerbil."

Yeah, I was so ditching the syringe once I got home.

The drive home from The Big City took more than two hours. Because a liquid diet doesn't stay with you long, I was absolutely ravenous by the time we pulled up to my place. I dreaded having to make some food. I was tired and achy and hungry and I just wanted something easy.

Then, I opened my screen door, and nestled inside was a Booster Juice with a nice little card from my friend The Bee. It was as though the heavens opened up and a choir of angels was singing just for me.

Unfortunately, after that point, eating got a lot more challenging.

I began with the best of intentions: my freezer full of organic, vegan soups prepared before the surgery. I thought these would be what I'd be eating the entire time my jaw was wired shut, but it didn't work that way at all. I tried to eat them through my Zip-n-Squeeze bags, but the soups were too thick. I thinned them down with more broth, but they still got stuck in my wires. I realized that I would have to strain them to be able to eat them, but just thinking about straining all of that great fibre out of the soups seemed...wrong. I just couldn't bring myself to do it; it stressed me out. So, I shelved the soups until my jaw was unwired and I could appreciate them in all their glory.

My next attempt at "healthy food" was also a dismal failure. At the hospital, the dietitian had said something about blending oatmeal. She said to put it in the blender before mixing the water in, but I can't seem to follow instructions for some reason. Instead, I made the oatmeal and then put it through the blender with some milk and brown sugar and plopped it into a Zip-n-Squeeze bag. Bad idea. The blended oatmeal concoction turned into a gluey mess that barely squeezed through the tube. And it was much less appetizing than it sounds, trust me.

At this point, I turned to foods I knew I could get through the wires: Boost (with extra protein), yoghurt, pudding, hot chocolate, chai lattes, applesauce, juice, and commercial soups like cream of tomato and cream of mushroom, all supplemented with skim milk powder for extra protein.

Anytime I would deviate from the above list, my wires would get clogged with food and I'd be in the bathroom with my new boyfriend, Larry the WaterPik (I had moved far beyond George by this point.)

Even with the "easy to eat foods", it took me about half-an-hour to eat anything. A cup of pudding. 30 minutes. A bowl of soup. 30 minutes. And in that time, about half of the food would end up on me. My lower lip and chin were numb from the surgery, so I wasn't able to feel where the spoon was going, or that there was food all over my face. Superstar got no end of amusement from this. Two-year-olds eat with far more panache than I did. In two weeks, I did more laundry than I had in the past three months.

Less than a week after the surgery, Superstar and I went to one of those sub sandwich places that also serves soup. I ordered the broccoli cheese soup. It seemed that it would work and I was looking forward to eating out like a normal person again.

The soup was quite chunky, so I picked out the bigger pieces with a fork and tried to eat around the rest of the vegetable pieces, slurping the creamy part off a spoon with my upper lip. After awhile, my wires got clogged (as usual) and I had to go to the restroom to brush some of it out.

When I came back, I decided to lift the bowl up closer to my mouth. Instead of lifting it straight up, I spilled it all the way down the front of my sweater. Fortunately, I jumped a bit, so it didn't end up in my lap, but rather all over the booth I was sitting in. Always a class act, that Savia. I was so frustrated, I almost burst into tears.

This was not going well at all. In my first week wired shut, I lost five pounds. Not that I'm complaining about that, but I knew that I needed to get my protein and calories in for my body to heal.

One day, I lost it and scooped peanut butter out of the jar and rubbed it against my wires, trying to suck it through my teeth. It kinda worked. But not really.

Another day, I melted down a chocolate bar and slurped it from a spoon.

I finally got so frustrated about getting food in me that I went to the grocery store and bought:

• Whole milk
• Cheese cake mix
• Chocolate whipped cream

The second week, I don't think I lost any weight at all. Particularly once I rediscovered root beer floats made with Häagen-Dazs ice cream. Mmmmmm.

I think my naturopath had a mild aneurysm when I told her what I'd been eating for those weird wired weeks.

Ah, well. I survived, didn't I?

The one where Savia actually hands the spotlight over to someone else

Remember in this post where I was interviewed by Theresa from My Fairbanks Life for Neil's Great Interview Experiment and I mentioned that I was actually supposed to be the one interviewing her?

Well, the interview where I get to ask all the questions has now been posted over here at her blog.* Check it out. You won't be disappointed.

*Warning: reading this interview will make you love Theresa and compel you to add her blog to your already-packed-full blogroll, so proceed at your own risk.

Confessions of a morphine junkie

Perhaps Nancy Reagan was right. If someone offers you drugs, "Just say 'no', then go and tell someone you trust."

Of course, this is not what I did. I said, "Bring it on!" and became a morphine junkie within mere hours.

When I woke up from my jaw surgery, I was hooked up to an IV, attached to which were lines for fluids, antibiotics and morphine. The nurse soon told me that I was the one who would get to control the morphine flow. There was a little button that I could press anytime I felt too much pain, and that would release morphine into my veins.

Well, now, this was going to be fun. I quickly fell in love with my morphine dispenser. I named him George, cuddled him and considered leaving Superstar for him.

Oh, George. We were meant to be together. Let us never part.

Anytime there was even a smidgeon of pain, I pressed George's button religiously. Hey, he was there, right? And who wants to feel pain, anyway? Plus, it felt goooooooood.

But, as with anything gooooooooood, there were some downsides to my relationship with George.

Take, for instance, one of the big things that we take for granted: going to the bathroom.

The first time I had to pee after my surgery, I went into the bathroom and sat there for a really long time, trying to pee. I knew I had to go, but it wouldn't come out. I ended up having to push it out in spurts for about 40 minutes until I was done. (Too much information, I know.)

When I saw the nurse next, I told her about the peeing drama and said, "That was really creepy. What the heck was up with that?"

She explained that it was one of the side-effects of the morphine - inability to control the bladder sphincter. Nice. But that wasn't enough to make me give up my love affair with George, that's for sure. So it would take me a bit longer to pee. So what?

But it got more interesting. One night, I felt like I was peeing, though I was pretty sure I wasn't. So, I dragged myself out of bed and went to the bathroom, sitting there for another 40 minutes until I was done, then went back to bed and passed out.

The next day, I went to the bathroom for another 30 minutes (I was getting a bit better at it by this time) and looked down at the floor. There was what looked like dried pee on the floor in front of the toilet. I stared at it and tried to figure out how it had gotten there and who it could possibly belong to. I had visions of some creepy old man breaking into my private room with the express purpose of peeing on my bathroom floor.

When I got out of the bathroom, I saw one of the nurses take the disposable pad off my bed and say discreetly, "I'll just change this for you."

Hmmm. Okay. Well, that's nice of her, I guess. I went back to bed. Later, I noticed a few nurses get a bucket and discreetly mop up the bathroom floor. "There's some pee on the floor," one whispered. They discreetly looked at me and then looked away.

Why are they looking at me? I thought. It's not like it's my pee or anything. Why should I be embarrassed?

I was still working on my creepy old man theory. But I couldn't figure out how the old man had managed to pee on the pad I was lying on without me waking up to see him. I guess it was my pee after all. Unless....maybe it was aliens!!

Probably not. But it's a theory I was willing to investigate further.

A day later, the nurses told me they had to start taking me off the morphine.

"But I need him!" I exclaimed.

They explained that I had to go home soon, and I couldn't take George with me, so I had to learn to manage the pain without him.

Nooooo. Please don't take George away! We love each other!

As you can see, I was very upset about this new development. I alternated between trying to cut back and pushing George's button for "old time's sake."

However, as I cut back, I began to realize how much of a junkie I'd become. Sure, I liked George and all, but I didn't need him, like I had previously thought. Also, the less I relied on George, the easier it was to pee, and that was no small mercy, because my stomach muscles were killing me from all that effort. (Another thing about George that I realized later on: when you're on morphine, you no longer poo. It took me five days before I could go again. Now that's creepy.)

Clearly, this was a co-dependent relationship and I needed to get out. I asked the nurse to remove the IV.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "If I take it out, you can't have any more morphine."

"Yes, I'm sure. George and I are through."

It was nice while it lasted, George, but eventually, we all have to return to the real world.