I'm totally into needles. Is that bad?

I had to sign a document that said I wouldn't post on my very own blog for 48 hours until after my Endoscopy. So, here we are. I'm really risking it all because the surgery was scheduled for 11a.m.,, but ofcourse the doctor was running late. Had she been on time, this post would be just at 45 hours. But since she was so late, it's 43 hours after the procedure. Glad we cleared all that up.

I was fine waiting for the doctor. Really, it's like airline pilots, you just want to make sure they are happy with their job, not about to go on strike or something, and that they aren't drunk. With a pro like me, I can easily solve both mysteries, even with an i.v.

I've never had a problem with hitting the ol vein. I used to give blood regularly. There was this one time I was giving platelets. And they got my blood, it spun and diffused, they went to put the blood back in, and the needle had slipped out of my vein. FIRE! That hurt, but made this really cool softball size Van Gogh looking tattoo with fabulous hues of purples and yellows and blues. The other day, they could not find my veins. They dug and dug and dug. Tried three different places on my hands and two different nurses before they could get it. I kept trying to tell them my elbow creases are where I find the best access. My veins kept rolling. And I have old lady hands with puffy veins that stick out.

The nurses were sweet. "Are you okay hunny?" Most people look away, but they caught me watching with great wonderment and curiosity. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm totally into needles." By then, I'd done my entire comedy routine for them, so they were cool. It bothers me when people say they won't give blood because they hate needles. Especially when they are covered in tattoos.

To be truthful, I don't really LIKE needles either. I don't invite needles to dinner, or to come play with my kids. But I like to live. That's good. And I think I've resolved that I have something in common with recreational drug users: It's totally worth the high.

WOOOHOOO! That was some fun stuff. The nurses told me that I was basically not to do the following:
1. Go back to work.
2. Drive.
3. Go anywhere in public.
4. Talk to anyone.

What? Don't talk to anyone? WTF, that's my lifeline. Well, it turns out, that not only would I be woozy, high as a kite, dizzy, and fun to take advantage of, I'd have a bit of amnesia. They were giving me some kind of amnesia drug. So, there IS such a thing! All this time, I thought the writers at Days Of Our Lives were smoking a little too much weed. Hmm. Who knew?

I suppose the "Don't go anywhere in public. Go straight to bed and just lay there til the drugs wear off" was a last ditch effort to get me from getting arrested or embarassing loved ones. I can embarass loved ones on my own free time, I guess. I followed all the rules except for one: Don't talk to anyone. So, if I talked to you on Wednesday, and heck, let' say Thursday too - just to cover my ass -Then I remember nothing, and you should probably check back with me.I probably shouldn't have been the one to take the kids to that birthday party yesterday...

For a moment, I wished I was a working woman again, so I could go back to the office and sound off. I'm sure my old co-workers would agree that jacking with me could have been a great day at the office.

The needle prodding was totally worth it. That was some fun stuff. While they were in there, they stretched my swallower for bon appetite. So, that was a nice bonus. The doctor will call me next week and let me know what's up and how fun my comedy routine was with a tube down my nose and throat. I can't wait to hear her critique!

Thanks to all of y'all for your concern, thoughts and prayers. It really wasn't a huge deal. Except the drugs. That was great! My hands are bruised from the needle "vein search" and hurt worse than my throat does. So, I'm all good.

That's how I (and my veins) roll.