// Post-Surgery Depression?

Surgery was a while ago. It was successful. Follow-up appointment was missed, mainly on purpose. I want to meet with my doctor, not one of her nurses. I have some things to discuss with her and only her. No, it is not because she is cute. That has nothing to do with it (this time). Surgery was supposed to make me feel better. But I’ve been really tired. Unusually tired.

This, I guess, is my way of apologizing for not posting anything for the past few weeks. It’s not because I am lazy, at least not this time. Production is down. I fear there might be a coup. I’m going to be taken over by myself. I’ll just start typing things that make little to no sense at all.

All work and no play makes Statts a dull boy…

Something needs to change.


// Successful Surgery, Green Monkey & Morphine

It is official. I am a dad. My broken-rock “son” was born into this world in the early morning hours of October 5, 2012. It was a routine procedure, choreographed to perfection by my cute-as-a-button (and getting famous) pee doctor. I expected no less from her.

When I finally woke up I felt a bit of pain. My sweet, older nurse gave me morphine. Lots of it. We bonded rather quickly, the the nurse and I (the morphine and I also bonded rather quickly – my silent, soothing friend). When it was injected I felt I was slowly flying, a little higher, a little higher, a little higher, and… cruise. I’d drift off to sleep and have – quite possibly – the most entertaining dreams I’ve had in a year or so. I’d wake up hurting, only to have my nurse, who was now wrapped around my little finger, there at my side, holding a syringe full of my silent friend. This went on for about a day, and I was released into the wild.

My mother, the best on Earth, was with me the whole time. She survived the night in the loudest chair I’ve ever heard in my life. I was high as a fucking kite and it could still wake me up with every move tiny move she made. I’m surprised she made it until the morning. She was happy to get out of the hospital… happier than me, even. She slept well the night of my release.

Some pretty special people visited me right after I “came to” and was put back into my room. I awoke to a big, green, fuzzy monkey and a kiss on my massive forehead. Not a bad way to wake up. Everyone was pleased to know that my penis was okay (the entire Chuck Norris-style extraction was done through my best little guy). The gigantic, spike-riddled rock-baby was too large in its original form to be pulled through my urethra, so it had to be broken up inside my body and removed in manageable “chunks.” Nice. Overall, the “baby” is pretty impressive. It was a little over half an inch long and about a quarter of an inch thick. I’m glad I never actually passed it. His name is Uri. Fitting.

Many people sent me messages and called my phone. I loved each and every call and/or comment. I have a lot of great people in my life and I appreciate each and every one of them. Surgery is not always fun, but sometimes it is needed and often, inevitable. What matters is having people who care about you and want you to come out on the other side. Without them, life wouldn’t be very much fun anyway.

I feel better.


// Tomorrow I Give Birth

I have a date with my cute pee doctor and a few assorted (stabby) medical instruments tomorrow morning. This procedure will remove the shadow-casting rock-baby living in my soft, vulnerable bladder (it has been gestating for over a year now with no issues, but the last two months have been a living hell). Needless to say, the stone should be big… and more fun to have in a jar than it in me. It already has a place reserved on the shelf with its 35-odd brothers and sisters. It will be the crowning achievement thus far. A big brother to everyone else, at least for now. Visiting hours TBA.

There was a very bright moment today. I was visited by someone pretty special. I’ll be thinking about her face while I am high as a kite and under the knife. I think I’ll make it.

It should be a total blast. And it better not ruin my plans of seeing two great bands later in the evening. I want to rock out with my rock out. We shall see.


// My Ear Hates Me

I feel sorry for my left ear. It’s existence since age 14 has been somewhat disconcerting, to say the least. It was around this time that I developed an ear infection. I doubt it was my first, but it definitely was the worst up to that point. It required surgery.

I was cool with this, as I thought I was pretty tough at 14. I figured I would just throw on some Bolt Thrower, scarf down some chicken McNuggets, go get my ear cut off my head and completely rebuilt, then go about my normal day. Not the case. My head felt like it was going to fall off for about two weeks after the surgery. Plus, I had to wear a hockey mask contraption on the side of my freaking head the whole time. This looked dumb. After a while the hockey mask came off and I could hear pretty well. I was happy.

This actually worked fine for a few years. And if it hadn’t been for me blasting my eardrums with loud music, both recorded and in various band situations, it probably would’ve held together a lot longer. More problems, and a second surgery. This was okay for about two years. More problems, one more surgery.

The third surgery was successful. I have about 45% hearing in my left ear. I could get higher, almost 100%, with a prosthetic device. I’m just not ready for that yet. Over time though, I will definitely consider it as an option. I love sound (and music) too much to lose it altogether.

One thing is certain though; my ear produces some crazy stuff. It is absolutely terrifying to see what comes out of there sometimes. Terrifying. But I guess that’s part of the fun. This reminds me, I need to go to the ear doctor. He is pretty cool, too. More on this later.


// Stone Surgery

Remember that cute pee doctor I’ve talked about before? Remember that gigantic, shadow–casting stone in my bladder? These two will finally meet on October 5, 2012. This should be a momentous occasion.

The stone has actually been with me for more than a year. At this point it is probably pretty comfortable in its environment, living like royalty spiked into the side of my bladder. But now it is time to go. And good riddance, as it’s causing all kinds of hell. The only bad thing Is that the surgery date is so far away. A month. Fuck.

The first time I went to the doctor about this was a month ago. It took a while to get my second appointment, and the third appointment was basically just to tell me that I needed to have the surgical procedure done. This is all fine and good, but I’m in pain here. A month is a long time when something is causing one to have unwanted muscle spasms, sharp pains, headaches and loss of sleep. I just want the party to get started. And ended.

My doctor is great though. We get along very well and she knows her stuff. Did I mention she’s cute? She is. I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Again, I’m tough. I think I can do this. What else can I do?