Too many things

To write about, but I’ll try to get some things down. Like I’m back in the B-side part of town, with the Angels and the Bully Moms. I have a million and a half tubes running in me, transporting anti-vomit medicine, calories, proteins, antibiotics, my piss, my stomach nastiness and I’m sure I’m missing something in there. I’ve got these massage pads attached to my lower legs which are hooked up by tubes to the machine that powers them, I like them. 

I’m a long ways from normal, but I can feel my strength, I mean the stuff I’ve been working on for the past month or so. Physically I was able to walk to the observation room today, but I got too dizzy towards the end and had to turn back. Still, it means I haven’t slipped back to my chemo days of weakness. Well, I mean as bad as things got, it’s pretty pretty hard to lose a month plus in a few days. And yes, I'm still hiccuping, but not as fiercely or as constantly. 

Things of note: my wife saw the insides of my stomach after the operation was done. The flaps of skin were on all sides of it and Y-sensei was pointing out why they couldn’t proceed.

Without the pain medication IV dripped into me, the smallest wrong move knocks a bit of pain down the corners and crinkles of my body.

I haven’t vomited the green stuff in over 24 hours. This is majorly great. 

The corridor that connects all the operation rooms is a scary place. It’s lined by these huge metals doors that make me think of meat lockers. Like where the mob might stash a body or two.

The operation rooms themselves have become very familiar places though. You would think this counts as a very not good thing, but at least I'm not intimidated by the room when I'm wheeled in. When I got in this one, Y-sensei and a couple other doctors were squatting there, waiting. A doctor’s life is waiting too? I didn’t even think of that before.