Why you shouldn't take drugs

I'm home. And I couldn't be happier about that. I know one thing for sure: hospitals suck. It's like prison, but with better drugs. And still, even the fact that they give you drugs when you ask doesn't make it suck less. You just don't care as much---that it sucks so bad.

When I woke up after surgery I was sure I was dying. My whole body hurt. It felt like I'd been in a terrible car accident. Even my neck was sore and I'm no biology major, but I'm pretty sure my uterus is nowhere near my neck. I don't want to know what kind of horror was dispensed on my body while I was under anesthesia. If you know don't tell me. It's best I don't know. But I'm pretty sure I was violated.

I drifted in and out of consciousness most of the afternoon because some brilliant person put a button in my hand and told me I could press it every 6 minutes and get a hit of morphine. Party! So that's basically what I did--stayed high. It definitely made the day better. And even though I was in a lot of pain, I really didn't care.

The whole day after the surgery is pretty much a blur. I know I asked the same questions over and over again. I know this because at one point Tommy leaned over me and said, "Shauna, listen to me carefully. Yes, you had surgery. Yes, they took your uterus. Yes, you got to keep one of your ovaries. Yes, the kids are OK. No, Ethan did not go to soccer practice. It's raining, remember? And no, they did not attach a penis, and Yes, you are still a girl."

My mom sat in the corner of the room watching as he had to answer the same questions over and over again. I'm pretty sure I gave him plenty of reasons to divorce me. Apparently I was annoying. Or so I'm told. And I'm pretty sure he pushed the button himself once or twice so I would shut up and fall asleep.

Whatever, give me more pain medicine.

I was in pain, y'all. Also, Ethan wouldn't come near me. He was scared seeing me in the bed and with the oxygen tube in my nose. He said, "I'm OK. I'll stand over here." He kept waving at me, but he wouldn't get close enough for me to squeeze him. Sad face.

This is what happens when you're on morphine. Maybe I should be the poster child for the Just Say No To Drugs campaign. I fell asleep numerous times while in the middle of eating. I passed out while holding a cup of gatorade thus spilling it all over me. I barely noticed I was drenched in lemon-lime. My friends cleaned drool off my face and didn't judge me when I would fall asleep in the middle of a sentence. They just laughed and took pictures. My friends are awesome.
Drew, my publicist/friend came to see me. He asked if there was anything he could do. I told him he could put socks on my feet. He made a sour face and said he would only do it if he could wear rubber gloves. Luckily for him, there was a whole box of them in the room. So...
He put them on and voila! Socks. Feet.

Anyway, I'm home now and pretty much under house arrest. Every time I move someone is there saying, "What are you doing? Where are you going? What do you need?" Like I'm some invalid who can't function. Um, people, I'm just going to pee! Can't a girl pee without being interrogated? Jeez.

I miss the morphine.