Writing several posts a day for my blog is tough duty when I spend most of my time lying on my back or stumbling down the hall with an IV pole. Everyone has the same zombie look here, the same blue nightie, the same tube-covered pole, the same dazed stare, the same bad hair. At least you don't worry about making a fashion statement.
The pain killing drugs have a weird effect on my mind. I just had a little nap and the experience was that the voices in the hall sounded like the voices of people I know, but they were talking about unfamiliar things like if the guy across the hall should continue to wear his support hose. I think I said this before too, but it makes me really blabby and sort of overly friendly. I was going down the hall on a cart the other day, waving and talking to everyone. Then I saw my surgeon and called out to him. It makes me repeat things, too, as you have no doubt noticed.
I've decided I don't like the taste of sugar free anything. Whatever they use for the sweetener is fairly repulsive and is probably like sorbitol and we all know the ill-effects of that. My Ukranian doctor calls it flatus. When he mentioned it to me, he added "gas" by way of explanation. Yes, I know the word. Maybe he was concerned about it coming across in translation. For some reason, it is funny to hear someone with that accent talking about gas. Cousin Deb, you would love it. Gas and poop are really popular subjects here.
I think my pillow is made from plastic and it makes the back of my head itch like I have lice. I'm painting a lovely picture here, right?