contraception

“Don’t you think that’s a little … overkill?”I’d been waiting in the doctor’s office for at least a quarter of an hour, ready for what I was certain would be a completely routine post-op consult. Having never had any kind of major surgery before this tubal ligation, wisdom teeth extraction excepted, I didn’t realize that the existence of a surgical incision required a follow-up visit, about two weeks post-op, to ensure that everything was healing correctly.

Edmund, most of the time, is too lazy to work up the effort to squeeze out a full-fledged meow, instead settling for a meaningful glance, occasionally laced with a whiskertwitch or two. Only when he is annoyed (defined as “my brother kitty will not play with me when I bite him on the ass”) does he really feel the need to actually audibly voice his opinion. Today was no exception, but even without the vocalization, I got the point.

From the inbox…

hEll0 wOr1d. Remember me?

Yeah, you. Hey, thanks for the painkillers and this wacky hole in my jaw. I survived anyway, despite your best efforts. Neener. I even had vegetables tonight - you know, those colorful crunchy things you chew? They rock my little blue planet. I was considering starting a peasant revolt if there was to be more soup.

Life axiom: you know you’re getting better when you’re starting to get sick of soup. Okay, so I’m not sick of the ice cream or the cinnamon-flavored applesauce just yet, and definitely not the yogurt or the smoothies, but the soup? The soup’s gotta go.

I really hadn’t intended on this one little dental appointment eating up my week, but in retrospect I’m glad I didn’t know how Hitchhiker’s-esque bad the tooth extraction was going to be. I mean, really, would you go in for a procedure if you knew that having it would cause you to swallow enough blood to make you retch for a period of days?