Dr. Smart-Ass

Tonight may actually be my final night in captivity. Dr. McNicoll and I had a long, frank talk about how discouraged I felt after an especially bad evening checking out of ICU (actually he read through my almost 2-page memo since I couldn't talk).

He nodded his head, and said real innocent-like, "let's try something different." Whips out his scalpel and snips my current treachostopy device out (without telling me what he was going to do until it was too late and I was already on my back...just like a man).

But after coughing up a lung all over his steel-rimmed glasses, he slid and stapled on a new, sleeker, far trendier trache-tube and asked me to say something. And I did. I hadn't spoken since the day of the operation.

But then I had a lot of visitors this afternoon, and talked myself right into a sore tongue, swollen to almost twice its size (not really). Doc said if I can get the survival techniques down, and I breathe all day with the new hole on my throat, I can go home tomorrow night!

So I'm resting all day, avoiding, conversation makers, and practicing my feeding tube techniques.

So sorry if you were really looking forward going to the hospital, but I didn't want to be there.