I’m not an emotional person, I’m not a crier.  For the most part, I am pretty laid back and easy going.  They entire time I was in the ER I was making jokes – most at the expense of the people behind the curtains around me whose conversations I could here as clear as a bell.  I was laughing and having a good time, complaining that I was hungry, thinking about what I would put up on Facebook when I got my Blackberry back.  Maybe something like, “Amy Ruud is totally amused by the lady who is upset that the ER is not 5 star restaurant.”  All in all I was taking the prospect of having surgery – something I had never had done before – pretty well.  And then the surgeon came in….

Apparently he had a nice expensive watch – my Dad pointed this out – I of course couldn’t see it.  He explained that the shunt would go into my lower back at the base of my spine, it would have a valve, it would drain fluid from my brain, down my spine and into my abdomen for my body to get rid of – naturally.  The surgery would happen the next morning.  I asked him how long I would need to recover – expecting to hear a week, I freaked out a little when I heard recovery time was going to be a minimum of 4-6 weeks.  What?  I have promotions launching!  I have a mortgage to pay!  I don’t have that much vacation time!  I don’t have that much in savings!   I have work to do!  I have concerts to go to!  I have trips to take!  Bars to hit up!  Parties to throw!  It’s almost the summer!

I guess this 4-6 week recovery time was the straw that broke the camel’s back… It wasn’t the 3 incisions they would be making on my back, side and stomach, it wasn’t the contraption they were placing inside me, it wasn’t my near blindness, it was missing work of all things!  So there I was, having been in the ER for a few hours, waiting for a room, starving, needing surgery the next day, and all I could think about was how I was going to pay my mortgage, who was going to take over my promotions at work and what my last Facebook status update said…