Let’s Play Nurse

 

So. As my gorgeous butt continues to heal, I continue to be dumb. Count the number of “Be careful until you heal properly” warnings as I received from my caregivers over to North Austin Surgical Center, and you can determine the number of times I’ve ignored said warnings.

“Look, Mooner,” Dr. Ashworth carefully instructed me as I lay in my recovery room bed. “Don’t write anything and post it on your blog until after you finish with the scrip for pain meds I wrote.”

I think I remember him asking me to pay attention, but then he added, “You will not be thinking clearly until a few days after those medications are out of your system. Don’t write something you’ll regret.”

Must have drifted off because I hear, “Mooner! Pay attention for once!” This was barked at me by the good Doctor.

Now patiently, he says, “You say enough questionable things when you’re stone cold sober. Please don’t write anything for at least a week.”

Sage advice basil’y ignored.

I just did a word count of everything I have written since returning back to the ranch since last Friday’s operation, and I clocked 47,568 words. When you take off the 19,226 “hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh’s” that my nose typed that one time I passed out, you still get some pretty impressive numbers.

But as a fully responsible adult, I need to make an apology for a mistake I made earlier this week. When I was thanking my team of caregivers, I mistakenly said that Stacie took time from her busy schedule to gather names for me, when it was Shelly. Shelly wasn’t a nurse on my team this time, but she did the follow-up call to make sure I was doing OK.

Sorry, Shelly.

I wonder why I think nurses are so sexy. In my numerous visits to hospitals and emergency clinics throughout life, I think I have thought about sex with each of them. Maybe that’s a mind trick my brain plays to take itself off the anxieties associated with anticipated pain.

Maybe I’m a horny old goat with no impulse control.

I think it might be that I have always thought that nurses and other medical professionals know things about the human body that we non-nurse types don’t. In my mind, a nurse will know how to have fun in ways unimagined by the untrained. Otherwise, why would, “Let’s play Doctor, Susie,” every have become so popular?

Sounds like I have some research to do.

Dr. Ashworth also advised, “And whatever you do, don’t sneeze.”

When your ass already feels like your neighbor parked his 1992 Dodge Ram pickup there, using your prostate and coccyx as curbs and resting the front bumper on your bladder, what’s to fear from a little sneeze?

E-mail me if you want to know the answer.

“And don’t do any heavy lifting or straining and end up back here again, Mooner.” This from one of my nurses. “You’ve got a cute ass, but I’ve seen enough of it for now.”

This one I got right, except for now understanding the limiting factors on the word “strain.” Who would know that mowing Dr. Sam I. Am’s lawn is a strain?

Anyway, I feel better than yesterday, and that was all I was promised. And I’m ready to move on from all of these sore ass discussions.

So, I got a call from one of my five Project Coordinators over to CreateSpace Publishing. I bit the bullet and signed up to publish with them, and Caitlin, not affiliated with any of the Vivo Caitlins, called.

She just wanted to say, “Hi,” and walk me through the process. She carefully walked me through the many steps required of us both to have a successful book publishing experience. She was knowledgeable, helpful and supportive.

As we were going through all of this, I had a renewed appreciation for all the hard work traditional agents and publishers extend on behalf of authors. This publishing stuff is a lot of work.

She told me that I had a team, and that my team was always at my beckon during business hours. Either by phone or I-net, someone would be there promptly to assist me. I asked her if my team had a name.

“Apollo,” she said. “We’ve always been Team Apollo.”

Fate?

Anyway, my ass is throbbing and I need to take my mind off the discomfort. Maybe I’ll take the Squirt and a cooler of Carta Blanca beer fishing. I’m keeping her company full-time while Dr. Sam I. Am takes a vacation. When I asked her what she wanted to do today, she said to me, she says, “Moi voulez go fischen mit you, Bwana Mooner.”

Fishing it is. Manana, y’all.

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