Since I couldn't livetweet it

I had every intention of livetweeting as much as I could of my surgery yesterday (Laparoscopy, for endometriosis). Partly for the humor-I'm funny when drugged-and partly to help me remember things, since most people don't remember much before or after.

So I'm gunna put it here instead, so that I can remember what I remember.

My roommate's mom came & got me just before 8:00AM-8:30 check in, 10:00am surgery. They asked me a bunch of questions that I'd answered before, kept asking how I was (hungry, thirsty, & terrified), kept making sure I was the Neurodivergent K who's chart they had, stuff like that.

The gown was, like, recyclable. Seriously. It was purple and made of this paper/cotton mix. It plugged in & inflated these plastic bag things with hot air...it looked like I had absolutely comically GIGANTIC pecs. Unfortunately it sounded like a vacuum-I would have liked it warmer but it was so loud.

So after I got all gownified the official presurgical nurses came in to do my IV and make sure the incision site was as clean as could be & to take my necklace & bracelet from me. Noooo. The IV lady was really good...most people need a few tries, but it was in before I noticed. They were asking the same standard questions, I was answering the same way I always would (so, most people read me as a bit quirky or obnoxious), and they kept telling me I was adorable. Weird, but better than the people who are dealing with my anesthetized ass thinking I'm a jerk, right?

It took a long time for the anesthesiologist to come in. Like, a LONG TIME. Apparently my chart had walked away. But he told me exactly what they were going to give me & explained how they were going to prevent anesthesia awareness (a rare phenomenon that really really freaks me out). Telling me that it's rare isn't helpful, so are a lot of things that I've experienced, but telling me that even those rare cases mostly occur in emergency surgery when they can't fully anesthetize because blood pressure is already too low-that helped.

Then MY doctor came in & asked how I was. Terrified was apparently a healthy answer. I appreciated my anxiety not being written off-so often it's seen as silly. Also, she had on bright orange shoes, which is the silly kind of detail that I notice that makes things like "getting four holes punched in your abdomen & your innards cleaned off" a bit less intimidating. Weird? Yep. Yep I am.

Then they gave me Versed in an injection & everything got all fuzzy-the first thing to go is always my ability to focus my eyes together. The next thing I knew I was waking up in a room with a LOT of medical people & a lot of groggy people and I felt naked. First conscious word: Naked. Second conscious word: thirsty. Third conscious word: blanket. I took a fuzzy (and frankly offensive, it's covered in puzzle pieces but was made with loving intent, and my cat loves it) blanket & they gave that to me. And then ice chips. They told me to go back to sleep, but it was too noisy & bright.

I only vaguely remember being wheeled back to the room I started in, but I ended up there & kept asking for water & if I should have my noon meds. They wanted me to have a few more ice chips first. So I did. And then I drank. And drank more. And took my meds. And drank more. They left some crackers there, so I ate them. Mmm, club crackers...this nurse was kinda...uh...spacey, or else I was being very confusing, because nothing I asked got an answer without being asked again.


They made sure I could pee & then I got to go home. I was really out of it physically-like it was taking my brain a few steps to connect with my body-so I kept my eyes closed the whole time in the car.

And then the cat cuddled with me, I slept, and that was really that.

Boring blog post, yeah? Less boring, I guess: they took out several endometriosis implants & one of my ovaries had almost no mobility because of scar tissue or something attaching it too tightly to the pelvic cavity, so they're testing the shit out of that shit. So, I am not a whiny baby-there was stuff in there that causes pain. And it's gone now. Bahahaha.

So this is why I don't blog for other people much, or go to many conferences.

Something I wrote here was reprinted on Thinking Person's Guide to Autism (with my permission, at their request). It was the story about C. You know, the C who had no reliable and honored means of communication and who was given no agency?

Apparently it was an anti-ABA screed, judging of his parents (and damn right I judge his parents. I'm not a hypocrite-everyone judges everyone. "Judging" does not mean "makes a negative assessment of someone and shares it". "Judging" is making any damn assessment, good, bad, or neutral, and keeping it to yourself or sharing or whatever, judgement already made.) We all do it, all the time, it's one of the things that makes us human, conceited because I was proud of what I had done (I don't understand what's wrong with that?), a bad example because I yelled at a woman who grabbed a child's body and made him do things he expressly indicated he did not want to do (because autistic kids don't deserve bodily agency? Forget that), and all kinds of other things I didn't say.

There are all kinds of controversial things I actually do say. If you must yell at me-and sometimes I think "terrorize the autistic" is an international sport-then yell at me for something I actually said. Don't yell at me for "tone"-we have had that discussion before and I think it should be an offense punishable by being cut off from the internet for 3 weeks. If I am talking about a specific event, unless it is about you it is not about you. You probably aren't that important. If I say something about a specific person, place, thing, or idea, I'm dead certain it's true. I have a painfully good situational memory and good pattern recognition-things that are honed to, you know, predict when people are going to slam your head into a wall.

I avoid contact with people who do these kinds of things because I've already had enough of it. I know where to find my mother (dents in the skull for all!). Speaking of skull dents, I know where to find the sack of shit who put me in the hospital with adrenal crisis, brain swelling so bad I couldn't stop throwing up and couldn't see. I know where to find the sorts of other people's parents who stab me in the arm-and yes it happened and go fuck yourself if you are going to tell me that I probably deserved it. No one deserves to be stabbed in the arm by a stranger or even someone they know, even if they are committing the huge crime of being autistic and adult at the same time. I know where to find the sharks. But I am tired of being forced to swim with them.