Post-Op Depression Part Deux

Okay, I'm back. Nothing much has happened. I did cook dinner for myself after a nice cathartic cry. Some real woe-is-I stuff went on and then, as usual, it passed because well, I can't stay sad that long. Plus, I have my giggly little sister Nyira in the house with me and she gets tickled so easily that I can't stay angry with her around. It's hard to be upset when someone is chuckling merrily beside you. I learned a long time ago not to even bother, it's pointless.

Right now I'm mildly disgruntled because my abdomen hurts and is wrapped like a frickin' mummy. They opened all my incisions and did things through them. I'm very fortunate, I don't have a smiley face (huge half-moon incision) across my abdomen, it's just three half-inch marks and then a full inch incision in my belly button. the half-inchers actually fade into non-existence after about a year and a half. I can't even find them once they have faded. the belly button scar sticks. But, I've been having such a great time since my second to last surgery for the ileostomy, healing steadily, building strength, feeling good - that being slapped back into just a corner of the post-op vulnearbility more or less pisses me off. I'm tired, I nap in three-hour stretches. This is normal post-op behavior, but no longer normal Camille behavior. I think this is callled cognitive dissonance, what my brain wants and what the reality of my situation is are at odds. Mmmm. maybe some subject verb confusion in that last sentence. let's blame it on the painkillers, though.

Happy Feet ended up being a sneaky "message" movie. I'm all ready to start sending my funds to greenpeace because of the tap dancing penguin Mumble. I did enjoy Brittney Murphey in this movie. i think she's one of my favorite young talents. Her raspy voice and doe-eyes are great modes of communication. I loved her in Sin City, which is very nearly in my pantheon of favorite movies of all-time. Brittney kicks ass, but she maintains a pretty low-profile. she's doing her damn thing and I give respect to that.

Okay, all this sitting up has me feeling winded and my arm is going numb. Frick Frack Frick. I'll be relieved or some equivilent emotion when all of this is over. I do mean ALL of it, too. When every surgery is done, when all the healing is complete and I know what it means to be a healthy human being with and interesting medical history, I cannot imagine what my life will be like. Hopefully it will closely resemble my life in Heavenly Acres - calm, reflective, filled with observation of funny events and participation in activities with people I love.

I dare to dream at this point. I dare to dream.

Post-Op Depression

It happens. Post-op depression. I always have a bout, usually once I'm certain I'm in the clear I experience a day or two of relieved super anxiety. it always helps to get involved in something 'happy.' today's happy activity is watching Happy Feet and right now Mumble, the outcast little emperor penguine is tapping up a happy storm to Back in the Day by Steview Wonder.

Uh. the seagulls are Italian Mobsters and they believe they have been abducted by aliens. Today is an italian day for me, I started out with The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly by Roberto Bertolini. I like Clint Eastwood movies, he's so good listening and there is always such morality to his movies. I found The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly fascinating because I don't think there was an ounce of dialogue for the first 20 minutes. There were plenty of sketchy looks, gunfire, a rape or two and the multiple hangings of one man. A lot went on before a word was uttered. Oh and the title was displayed really differently - there would be an entire scene without a real focus or focal character, then once the focal character had emerged his place in the title was written in bloody script next to his face "The Ugly," then "The Bad," then "the Good." Clint was the good. Kickass.

Lately I've been examining the six degrees of separation rule. In short, the theory is that every person on earth is separated by about 6 other people - or six degrees. But lately, whenever I've been asked about certain people, or found myself wondering about one person or another - whether it's Paris Hilton or His Holiness the Dalai Lama and I realized that I know exactly one person who knows the person in question directly. I have one degree of separation between me and most people that I might be interested in at least having a conversation with. That's funny and a little confusing because I never want to meet anyone in particular, but I guess, if I were so inclined, I would.

My Papa and my boyfriend just walked in, so now I get to defrag on the whole stepfather is a total asshole thing.