She's back. Working to take five times longer to type some shit on the screen so that people stop assuming that I Thelma and Louised myself off the cliff in a Jeep or was strangled during rough sex upon request.
Both perfect ways to go, but I'm not ready for either yet (I mean, everything but the death-part would be fine in both examples, let's be real here).
I had surgery on Wednesday morning (PJ just told me that was only yesterday WTF) and now the cast comes off in twelve to eighteen weeks (FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK) so this is not helping my cartwheel career, let me tell you. Thank God I can walk a tightrope better than most, for my hand is less than useless. The joke is I can finally practice using my left hand for handjobs and then be able to multitask six months from now but the boys are rather desperate to cheer me up.
But I'm not here to talk about scaphoid non-unions and the girls who suffer them. No, I've decided that we should talk about the bone now inside my hand that they used as a shim to fill in the space where my own bones, in an expected act of defiance typical of yours truly, declined to actually grow. It's called a non-union and the worst outcome save for infection.
So they decided to do a bone graft and screws and another cast.
And then began to explain where the bones come from.
And Lochlan jumped up and covered my ears but it was too late, while Caleb tried to talk over everyone pointing out they could do a graft from me, or even from him if necessary. Both bad ideas as I obviously heal so poorly who needs another thing to deal with and he might not even be compatible (snort) and they don't take volunteers. They dismissed the whole thing as par for the course, don't worry about it, etc. etc.
But my mind.
Oh, we all know my mind.
It went straight to The Dark Half, (It's a book by Stephen King) and you can look it up. I was wondering if anyone had any information about my bone. Who was he? I'm assuming it's a he. Young or old? Sick or a sudden accident? Will he help me or take over? Can I name him? If so, George it is. Do I get a certificate of authenticity? What if he's angry and haunts me too? What if he doesn't get along with Jake?
Who's Jake? The doctor looked so alarmed.
And Cole, I helpfully point out. They are my dead husbands.
The doctor put a call in for mental health services. Like he could order it. Like Door Dash.
It never came and then instead the boys had to explain and give the number for August and then for Seth, who vouched for my care under duress and without preamble and then I was never directly addressed again and I will be heading to a different orthopaedic dept. in the future, as they don't understand me and I can never show my face again in that hospital.
And I have been relentless since, equally repulsed and fascinated by the fact that I have a bone in my body that came from a dead person. Sometimes I want it out. Sometimes I feel like I have permanent company. Sometimes I wish they could have given me his brain too, and then I could think other thoughts. I think maybe he was an engineer or maybe an architect and he had coffee with a college friend and then died tragically crossing the busy street in front of the coffee shop, hit by a bus he never saw coming. It was raining. It was dark. What a shame.
But what if he's a bad guy and he was shot by a jealous husband? What if he was throttled during sex and now all I will see is his last vision of the realization in the eyes of his lover, too strong for his own good, spent and glistening in the dark candlelight, screaming his heartbreak into the void?
Right. The drugs are fucking fantastic and I'm not even going to edit. So there. Enjoy the madness while the drugs are this good because next week I'm sure Lochlan will be hiding the chainsaws again. But will he be hiding them from me or from GEORGE?
Who knows? Who even cares?