Posted in Journal, Life, cats, rape, the medical profession, tagged Arthur, bounced checks, Brando, breathing, brutal, Burn the Witch, cancer hospital, cats, cereal, cold, cold haif dryer, Cosmo, cry, daze, denial, don't eat much, Dr. C., ear lanced, feeding, feel like a prisoner, happy anesthesiologist, harsh lights, healing herbs, help other women, hematoma, hospital gown, instruments, Internet, intubation, killing myself, labia, lack of sleep, Lasix, let me down again, lungs, mask, metallic, midwifery, Mojo bag, Morphine, need help, not a morning person, observers, Oxycodone, pad, pain meds, phone calls, physicians, pieces I will never get back, prayer, Prednisolone, pretzels, promised to help, Purina One, purring, rape victim, right to privacy, rituals, shame of asking for help, shower seat, showers, sleeping, smoking, spells, squirt bottle, sterile, stripped of jewelry, student observer, surgery, sweets, took half the inner vulva lip, vagina, Verced, washing privates by hand, what would shooting myself in head feel like, where is hope, wise women, Witch Burnings, Witch hysteria, woman at bank, young woman on 2 June, 2008 | 1 Comment »
2 June 2008
I know I haven’t written much. I have sunk into myself so deeply, I can’t see my way out.
Before the surgery, I did nothing but fight and argue and scream and beg, none of it doing a whit of good. I did not want observers. I did not want a [...]
