Who Ate My Potstickers?, I Was Told There Would Be Ham… and other tales from beyond the operating table.

Vignettes from the last two weeks of my life:

December 5, 8am: No food or drink since yesterday at noon. No coffee. I wonder if it counts if it’s administered intravenously… Worst. Day. Ever.

December 6-9: I was wrong. This is WAY worse. Don’t speak to me, don’t even look at me. The thought of interaction makes my throat want to jump out of my body and run away.

December 10, 10am: Apparently your body acclimates to a strict diet of codeine and shaved ice. Will try to eat soup tomorrow.

December 11, 7pm: Christmas party. There is ham. Can barely swallow water, but might steal the leftover ham and weigh the possibilities of making a ham smoothie. Need. Ham. Now.

December 12, 3pm: Still no ham, puréed peach and ice is taking its toll.

December 13, 1pm: scrambled eggs… puréed with water. Can I get a side of puréed bacon?

December 14: Venture out of doors to get chinese food. Order egg drop soup, eat entire bowl meant to serve a family of 4. Take potstickers home in carry out container with another gallon of egg drop soup for tomorrow.

December 15, 7:30: Egg drop soup for lunch… dinner time. Tore apart fridge, one question remains to be answered: Who ate my potstickers?

December 16: Can someone explain to me why everything tastes like gummy bears?

December 17: Mentally and emotionally preparing myself for the prospect of Honey Baked Ham (Round 2) at one of three holiday parties I must attend.

December 18, 4pm: I was told there would be ham. Holiday Party #2 boasts a beautiful spiral cut ham…. I watch it being glazed…. I watch it emerge from the oven… and I have to leave to make it to the next party without so much as a mouthful of the glorious beast.

December 19: Still sour about the ham.

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