But Not For Me

Annamaria on Monday

It's time for Bouchercon, but not for me.

I was all set to go when disaster struct.  I won't go into all the gory details but it started with a lot of pain, and halfway through the ordeal I was attacked with a knife.  OOPs.  Please excuse me.  I sound like an over dramatic writer of crime fiction. What really happened was that a surgeon very skillfully, removed my appendix.

Today, on the third day after the surgery, I am battling its aftermath, exacerbated by my peculiar physical responses to the world at large.

 

In post-op condition, my tummy looks as if a team of fully grown Clydesdales stomping over it all the way to Milwaukee. Suffice it to say,  I am disoriented, distracted, dysfunctional, and generally speaking, all around displeased, disconsolate, disgruntled, disturbed, and discontent.

Here is an anecdote about how I got here that I hope will amuse you.  Cross your fingers.

I remained in the hospitalI an extra day after the operation, and then the surgeon gave me my get-out-of-jail free card. (Well not exactly free.)  I headed home.

That afternoon I was doing pretty well. But then, by the next day as the anesthesia medication wore off, I was in a lot of pain. Of course, all of this was happening on a holiday weekend at the end of summer. A time when anybody who could had abandoned NYC for the beach or the mountains. My doctor, I believe, is in the mountains. Eventually, I was able to be in touch with him, and during that conversation, I thought we concluded that he would order a heavy duty pain med so I would have it, in case I needed it. I know that we did agree that, based on my body's proclivity to overreact, I would start with a half a pill.

The next day (yesterday), I was distracted by friends phoning, visiting, and other delightful communications from those I love. But by early this morning, I was ready for that pain medication. A friend went at 9 AM to the pharmacy to pick up the painkillers for me. When she got back, she had two over-the-counter items that the doctor had also recommended, and a very special painkiller. Here it is:

Yes! According to the pharmacy, my doctor had prescribed - for intense post-surgery pain for a grown-up woman in her 80s, children's cherry, flavored Tylenol.

I was absolutely sure that this was wrong, but the people at the pharmacy, three of whom who spoke to me, insisted that they had sent me exactly what my doctor ordered. No use arguing.

I called his answering service and asked them to page him.  When I explained, the woman on the phone insisted that the doctor had left strict orders that he did not want to be paged for people who needed a prescription. I was certain that he meant this for people who just need a refill. But there was no way I could convince her. Finally, it occurred to me that I had to offer her a different excuse. "I really need to talk to my doctor. Please page him. I am in a lot of pain."

That worked.  She asked me my name, and my date of birth – which is St. Patrick's Day 1941. The snippy woman then said, "My mother was born on St. Patrick's Day in 1940." Suddenly, she was treating me as if I was a nice person like her mother. Imagine that.

I thanked her profusely. A few hours afterward, I got a call from him. Somehow I had misunderstood. We had settled that we would see how things went and IF I needed, he would then call the pharmacy. Eventually, one of my friends went to pick it up.  I am hoping for a good night's sleep.  Wish me luck!