This is a short and unedited version of what’s going on in my brain at the moment. I am not going to take any time to edit it because I technically should be doing the writing I am getting paid to do and I also have a book to finish (I’m 100 pages in so far).
I didn’t realize I needed to write a blog post until I let loose after coming home tonight. First, Maybellene hit my stomach where the stitches are. You may think the black stitches running across my face are the painful part. Guess what – they aren’t. It’s my stomach and it fucking hurts like hell. I may as well have another stomach tube sticking out past my abs.
So as I pushed Maybellene away, I was screaming in tears. Once I calmed down I became agitated on another level. My pain meds cause me to be very relaxed and tolerant of the situation, but they were wearing off at this point.
My dad was patient as I went on a tirade. “I hate people who wanted me to get surgery. I hate everyone. They think that just because the scars are gone, the crash didn’t happen. I shouldn’t get attached to the scars. But they aren’t just going to disappear. It isn’t all back to normal – ever. And, that’s fine but I wish people would just leave me alone about it.”
And here’s the part of my conversation with my dad that I really want to share, “Everyone is going to say, ‘Oh, you look so much better now’. I don’t fucking want to hear it. That is like saying I looked like shit the last year. Maybe I did look like shit, but I was fine with it;
The surgery went great. I was awake but I was pretty drugged up. My eyes were covered and I could barely feel anything except for the pressure. I heard the surgeon and his assistant talking between each other as she handed him different size stitches (~70 stitches total). I also heard the sound of the small scissors snipping. I gave a thumbs up a few times throughout when they asked how I was doing.
So there it is. Surgery was easy. My face is ‘no big shakes’ and my throat is easily forgettable. If I’m hunched over it is because my stomach is killing me. I don’t mind if you acknowledge the surgery happened, but please don’t tell me I suddenly look much better than I did. Because quite honestly, I was fine with my appearance about 99% of the time before surgery.