I'm back! Back on the rag, and ovulating Shan't go through the minute details of the op. The faint-hearted surely would not want to hear about it. I swear, you won't want to be in my shoes. The op was like erm..imagine extracting 20 teeth, brute force coupled with pliers and hammers. I'm not exaggerating. I was conscious for the entire hour. It was an eyeopener and I tried to absorb and observe as much as possible in this fruitful-once-in-a-lifetime event. Hearing from me is worth so much more than watching E.R., but then again mine is a small op, although to me it's a great deal. I tried to make it as light hearted as possible before going in, part reason being that I desperately wanted to keep the nails, which made interaction with the medical staff more than just a mere formality. In worse terms, I was simplying sucking up to them, degrading myself to clown status in order to get what I want. I gathered that I would have succeeded even without trying, just by seeing how foolish I looked in the operation gown, which I wore the supposed-insides, outside. When I finally got it right, I walked out casually, fiddling with the white 'cap' which I concluded that it must be my operation cap. "You haven wore it ar?" "I'm going to wear it now." "Wear here? The disposable underwear?" Shucks! And so I made my 3rd trip to the changing room, attempting to wear this disposable thing, but to no avail. It had to be a woman's undie, or a child's. And so I went in, underwear-less. The surgeon was a lady who looked more fitting in a Metro Store selling comestic. Her assistant had captivating eyes that generated a great deal of interest within me. I had to constantly remind myself to observe the surrounding, and at times I had trouble peeling my eyes off her. It was a local operation, local meaning only my right hand was numbified. My arm was handcuffed at 2 critical areas to stop blood from flowing into my hand altogether. So you can imagine how stifling and uncomfortable my right chest was feeling. Westlife music was playing in the room. Her eyes are damn beautiful. My hand was treated like that of a pig's for that hour. It was cleaned and washed with antiseptic solutions that looked like the thick bbq sauce from Mac. And then the injections. They were all over the place, at locations where you thought would be most painful. That weak and soft spot at the wrist, the palm, into the fingers. Dammit! And off they go, cutting open the skin, hammering my bones into place and pulling the screws out with sheer strength, blood spluttering out. Awwww... I was getting restless. Despite being painless, it was very uncomfortable lying on half a bed with the right hand extending into mid air for an hour. It was like standing still in a parade. I had to fidget my toes to keep my body from excessive shaking. Cooperation with the doc is of utmost importance here, I decided. Rocking the table while she's operating is a nono. And then it ended. I was bandaged up, and they returned me the implants. There were 20 screws and 3 bronze plates and one long wire. At first, I thought there were only 3 big screws in my fingers, as observed from the X-rays. The 'big screws' were actually the long bronze plates used to join my bones together, and the 20 screws were used to punch into my bones so that the bronze plates are in place. That explains the grunts' strength used in extracting. After changing into my civilian clothings and collecting my mc, I'm back home with a disability. Disability to write, disability to type fast in MSN, disability to pull out whatever are in my right pockets, disability to bath properly, disability to eat properly. For a good 2 weeks. At least it's over. And I can bullshit about it for the weeks to come. I had the imagination that this experience could give me bargaining powers over anything. Y'noe those 'been there done that seen it all' feel. I know it's false, but it makes me feel good. Everything that is good about my life has been taken out from imagination. Hehe.