Put Back Together Again

I'm off convalescent leave and back to work full time now. It was bitter sweet peeling myself off the couch, but it was definitely time. The reaction of my platoon of my return was excellent-- they were very happy to see me, and that always gives you a warm and fuzzy.

Although I'm back at work, I have a limited duty profile. Meaning I'm not allowed to do any physical training for 2 months. Its really difficult to abide by this, since sitting on the couch for three weeks inexplicably made me 7 pounds heavier (say what!?).

Even though I've been careful to not hurt myself, I hurt myself. One of my surgical incisions that had been healing beautifully started to split back open and bleed and leak unpleasant things. To the doctor I went!

The funny thing about being a medic is that your PA is also your boss. My boss glued my boob back together today. What has yours done for you lately?

He had to Dermabond me back together and so far the worst of the symptoms have been put to an end. I will not suffer from a breast coming unsewn from my body. I will live to work another day, but perhaps-- just PERHAPS, I will start to take it a little more easy.

Breaking & Entering at the La Quinta (pt 1)

So here I am at 12:24am standing in the center of my hotel room, staring at the floor beside the unused bed, petrified.

Area of Concern

It started out that I couldn't get comfortable. I was tossing and turning and checking the time on my phone over and over. Then I heard what can only be described as a "skitter". Since I'm really paranoid I jumped up and turned on the bedside lamp. And one of the biggest cockroaches I have ever seen was staring back at me from my headboard.

Immediately I got weak in the knees and nauseous. I jumped back off the bed, to the certain safety of the floor, when this big mother fucker had the nerve to FLY at me. Yes, I said FLY. It flew up over by the door, blocking my exit, and that's where I snapped this pic:

Intruder

I picked up my flip flop and stood staring at this giant roach for what seemed like an hour trying to work up the balls to smash it. But who am I kidding? One crunch of that exoskeleton against a wall would have sent me into a vomiting spell.

So I threw a pillow at it. Just to knock it down. Well that worked. And it ran warped speed over THE BED I WAS JUST LAYING IN and onto the side of the unused bed. He paused.

Now I'm scared enough to hit it with the flip flop. I took aim. It was an awkward angle. He twitched his feelers like saying, "I dare ya", and I struck!! WHAP!! He ran around the headboard of the unused bed. Which brings us up to the present time.

I'm sure I made contact with El Gigantor, but it couldn't have been a fatal blow. I need proof he's dead, or immobilized. I've shaken the bed. I've investigated around the bed. I keep hallucinating I see him on the move out of the corner of my eye.

I'm too afraid to get back in "the good bed" and turn the lights off to leave my uninvited intruder to his own devices. I have a doctor appointment in 8 hours and a 7 hour drive immediately afterwards-- I have to sleep!! That clearly isn't happening. God bless the man who invented energy drinks. I'm going to need them tomorrow.

B&E (pt 2)

The time is now 1:10am. The roach hadn't been seen in 45 minutes. I started to believe I had given it a fatal blow so I sat on "the good bed". Just a few seconds went by and the roach crawled up the back of the headboard and greeted me face to face in the same spot I had originally encountered it.

Same as before: weak legs, nausea, leap to faux safety. I smacked the bug with a rolled up pair of jean shorts. I saw him take the impact. He fell and ran behind "the good bed".

I cannot stay in this room. Roaches are unable to die and he's the Grand Dragon of them all. I'm checking out and finding another hotel.

I loathe the South.

* * *

1:52am New hotel: the crapiest Ramada Inn known to man. The toilet doesn't flush properly and the water won't stop running. I had to put my hand in the tank and flush it manually. I found a cheap bangle on the floor probably left behind by a hooker. I hope I don't get bedbugs.

La Quinta

I'm back in Augusta, GA to have an appointment with my plastic surgeon to have my stitches out.

This was supposed to be a little mini vacation compliments of the lady who organizes TDY appointments at the hospital. She's totally awesome and gave me a few extra days down here to hang out and relax.

Lucky for me, my unit fucked everything up so nothing about this trip is vacation-like, other than I am sleeping in a hotel.

For starters, I have not picked up my paper orders because no one was ever in the office and the phone was never answered when I called. So who knows if they even drew them up? I'm actually pretty sure they didn't seeing how I attempted to use my government travel card and it hadn't been activated. All the expenses of this trip are being funded courtesy of my own bank account. Gas, lodging, food... Ugh.

Of course, I wasn't planning on having to foot the bill up front for a medical appointment the army sent me 440 miles away to attend. My mini vacation turns into 1 night at the La Quinta and I'll have to leave before I can even use the pool.

I swear, if the Army can make it difficult, it will.

Recovery

Its been 8 days since surgery. I ran out of percocet today. Not that I really really need it. The pain is bearable... but it sure would be nice to just pop one and take a peaceful, long, pain free nap. However, I'll survive.

I'm getting 21 days off from work. (YES!) I wasted the first week lying on the couch with Picasso all drugged up. I watched a shameful amount of America's Next Top Model. Maybe this next week I'll dress myself in something other that orange sweatpants and an MTV t-shirt (which is red, so it makes the ensemble truly repulsive) and get out of the house.

Actually, getting out of the house is actually something I won't be doing, actually. It's been 105 degrees here all week. I don't do well with heat. Neither does my yard. The grass so so dead and crunchy that it hurts Picasso's feet to walk on it. All my flowers burned up-- except for my roses, which I think are cousins to weeds anyhow.

Sorry snapdragons, but you burst into flames.

In short, my bruises are fading and the incisions are healing. I can sleep on my side now instead of my back, in a far less Dracula-like fashion. Its supposed to take 6 weeks for everything to heal and feel good again. I'm anxious. Right now I have Frankenstein boobs: all sewn together. (Wow, 2 fictional villains in 1 paragraph.) I'm confident everything will turn out great.

Except my yard. That is a lost cause.