Invasion of the Body Snatchers

I confess that I normally see my self as a basically sane person of warmth, caring and empathetic development with a touch of humor and perhaps a bit of elevated self-esteem. Today, I am relatively sure that I have been invaded by the body snatchers and that my invader is the Wicked Witch of the West or a close relative in kind with some sort of irritable, genetic affliction that cannot easily be contained. I have been able to refrain from demanding that the air not blow over my body. Trust me when I say that today that is no small achievement.

What I am reminded of in this process is that I simply do not do the sick thing well and even minor surgical procedures more poorly. I am making a note to myself now. NO MORE SURGERY. I am thinking of a tatoo with with those words and a rosebud, or better yet a small elephant, least I forget.

What do you think? I marvel at those people who seem to transend physical discomfort, loss of energy and various gross or painful symptoms all in the name of prevailing modern medicine and through assurance of recovery. I tend to come out fighting, perhaps a bit like Don Quixote and his rather demented dance with the windmill. I think there may be much to be said for chants, and incense. I am not sure if this created a cure but the sounds and smells would have been inviting.

I definitely do not find it to be better living through Chemistry. I am convinced that I have lost at least 50% of my short term memory since taking even a few pain pills..... with no assurance that it is likely to return in the forseeable future. Say a slient prayer now please for me. Some recovering people should not be left alone. Thank goodness, I am assurred by all who witness that this is not serious and that I will soon be up running around normally. HMMMM It is a toss up. Is the pain worse or are the loss of memory and sense of self...I do still remember my name....the more difficult?

The answer to this ongoing mental self evaluation changes frequently....at least every 2 to 3 hours. It sort of sneaks up on you as you struggle to respond to what you have every reason to think is a perfectly reasonable question from a family member but what appears visually to be coming out of the asker's mouth looks like colorful falling children's building blocks.

I keep telling myself....mantra like...in 15 years this will surely not matter....
I cling to the one consolation...I think...the laproscopic scars are covered with heart shaped bandages.