The doctors Rotor Rootered my sinuses yesterday. Their choice of verbs, not mine. And boy what a fun night it led to, my sinuses running red non-stop, completely dammed, making breathing through my mouth my only option.

Yes, last night the bleeding never ended and no one was that concerned. Or not as much as I was. I’m glad I didn’t have the surgery as an outpatient, though I would have probably been given better instructions and advanced warning about the blood faucet. The picture I attached shows about a quarter of the bleeding – at most.

When the doctors rounded this morning they told me the bleeding was normal and weren’t concerned. Timing is everything, and information like that would have been valuable to know yesterday, when I spent an hour on the Internet looking up post-surgery FAQs. Thanks for that, my white-coated friends. Fun with a capital FU. (I take that back. Thanks for not drilling into my avocado-sized brain yesterday.)

Like all hospital visits, this one has delivered its fair share of mental trials, like sleeping with blocked nasal passages and the last-minute catches of incorrect Tobra doses two days in a row – score one for the nurse and one for me. Isn’t delivering correct doses of IV meds a core skill? Come on, people, it’s not like accidentally adding an extra patty to a Big Mac. Get it right before my kidneys burst into flames.

Thanks to the Universe for a book I read recently, Unbroken. It recounts the true story of Louis Zamperini and what he endured during WWII. Big baby that I am, I thought of his hardships in Japanese POW camps and my discomfort became manageable. There will be no feeling sorry for myself here. Period.

10 to 14 days in the hospital? Easy time.

I developed a Bejeweled habit. I sit here for hours shuffling gems around and making colorful rows, then igniting the explosive ones. Bang, pow, pop, everyone clap. Hand to my heart, I’m really embarrassed, especially because I’ve earned a badge in every category. I’m holding my fingers in an “L” shape to my head right now. Usually I spend my time in Hell much better, but I’m tired and this is day 10.

I’ve done some work here, which is a “no no.” I can’t help it. I have projects to manage and to keep moving forward, and doing so makes me feel I have some control over my life despite being locked up and attached to an IV pole most of the day, which makes me a perfect candidate to come back in my next life as a hound dog chained to a backyard tree all day.

Bark, bark, bark, bark. In “dog” that means, “losing one’s freedom to roam bites the big one.”