Why I Am So Colorful

I am re-posting an entry I just wrote for KT Fabulous, a blog started by someone with K-T about K-T. Most of you don't know it, but I was born with K-T -- and most of you don't know it because I didn't want you to know. So it is my honor to write a bit of my story to share with Arianna and her readers, as she and others have shared before, and finally let some of you know another side of me as well.

(She is running my post on her page now, or over here. Even though you can read my words below, I urge you to visit the blog. K-T is an ugly, painful little syndrome that isn't "glamorous." Nonetheless, Arianna started the blog to discuss it in her life, which is far braver than I was at her age.)

No Robotic Parts

Here's a shot of my neck from this morning. It is a little reddish around the area because I just patted it down with a warm rag to get the dried blood off. I'm not sure what caused that vicious bruise on my chest other than something that must have happened in surgery. Same with the number on my left bicep. (They really kicked my ass in there. And took a disc. Bastards.)

Can't take this tape off yet

Today is Monday; Tomorrow is Apocalypse.

This is a very personal sort of post, one I will contemplate even "publishing" online because of its very private nature. It is a journal entry in the purest form. So bare with me as I expose my vulnerability. 

Tomorrow I have surgery. It really sort of pisses me the fuck off, because I can't have a drink of water after midnight, and I don't check in the next day until like 10:10, and that's a whole lot of water and Denny's I could be enjoying, but oh no don't have a drink of water because we're going to stick tubes down your throat later.

See, this is really personal shit here.

Because I Want To

I have just finished going through my first pre-operation appointment as an adult. All of my other surgeries were before I was 18 years old, so naturally, I didn't have to do shit to get ready for them. My folks filled out all the paperwork, and while I'm sure I had to undergo the same stuff to be "cleared," I don't remember it very much. (Probably the saving grace of my childhood is how much I can or can't remember.)

I have many such bracelets

So yesterday was pretty strange to me -- here I am filling out my own paperwork; walking around this hospital to get all this stuff done; smelling that horrible, awful hospital smell. A bit surreal. But it made me think back on all those times I could remember, sitting at the desks with my folks bored out of my mind but too terrified to really act out because, unlike any other situation where kid-is-bored-wrecks-havoc, I knew I was about to have my head cut open and spliced back together.