It’s been five days and Steph still hasn’t killed me. Either I haven’t been too annoying or I’m doing everything the doctor said I should do.
And not do.
Those are the things that brought me here. When I told Steph that they would be cutting lower half of my left lung out because there was an alien life form growing there, she said, “You’re staying at my place after the surgery.”
I said, “I’ll be fin…”
“You’re staying at my place after the surgery. I know you. You’ll go for runs, dance jitterbug with your imaginary friends, go back to selling pencils on the streets…naked. You’ll do these things the day after you get out.”
I laughed and, in my most reassuring voce said, “Oh come..”
“You’re staying at my place. You’ll do everything the doctor tells you to do. You’ll do it all on time. And no jitterbugging…or I’ll kill you.”
And so here I am. At my best friend’s place. Living in fear that I might accidentally jitterbug or sell pencils in the street, naked. It’s been five days, so it looks like the fear has kept me alive. And now it’s time to blog. Didn’t want to start earlier, like right after the surgery, because I figured I’d be more inclined to just write three or four paragraphs of “Ouch ouch ouch…” or “Can you please make the stop? Please make it stop. Pretty please make it…” as opposed to something insightful like, “Help! My best friend’s holding me prisoner until I get better!” I mean, that just sounds weird.
So, Steph is having a party tonight and I’m the entertainment. I’m going to show off my stitches and people are going to laugh and point and say healing things like, “Ha Ha, Biff! That’ll teach you go smoke.” and “Gee, Biff…how do they get those staples out?” There’re a lot of staples:
(Photo by Stephanie Diana Durelle)
We’re all going to roll around on the floor laughing and giggling. Except me. I’m not allowed to roll around on the floor. If I do, Steph will kill me. For my own good.
Let you know how the party turned out tomorrow.