As if catching the VYRUS late last year wasn't bad enough, I recently went under the knife to fix my rickety-ass-shoulder.
Wanna know what sucks about having shoulder surgery?
Well, I am confined to a sling for the foreseeable future - so literally everything fucking sucks about this situation.
When you come out of surgery, they put you on pain meds. Now, to some of you degenerates that might sound like a fancy fucking time - but for someone with kids and responsibility it's not great.
The opioids dull the initial pain, sure, but they make you loopy, you can't drive and they make (literally) constipate the shit out of you. My first successful bowel movement post-surgery didn't happen for days and was more graphic, revolting and painful than that movie they made with the Lady Ghostbusters.
Sleeping? Nearly impossible. You basically can't sleep on your back, so I have been relegated to either sleeping upright on a couch or propped up by a mountain of pillows on a bed.
Let me tell you, it ain't too much fun! There is no real "rest" to be had here, just a series of moments where your body succumbs to exhaustion for an hour or two before you awake in terror over the thought that you might have just torn a suture and sentenced yourself to repeating the process from day one.
Driving? Doable, but dangerous and entirely miserable. Sending memes to your friends while behind the wheel (you know, the BEST part of driving) is now literally impossible, though I am getting more and more adept at steering with my knees.
Can you cook yourself a meal? Not really, the doctor tells you not to even lift a plate. So you better hope you have someone in your life is there to help feed your stupid face (I am, in fact, lucky to have someone to help feed my stupid face).
Cranking your hog? Buddy,,,,,, I hope they operated on your non-dominant jerk arm, because polishing the bannister just isn't the same when you have to switch hit.
A shower requires you to wrap your shoulder in cling wrap to avoid getting your bandages wet. The arm pit under your bad shoulder? It's going to smell worse than Joe Biden's underwear after meeting with the pope.
You cannot lift weights, but can do cardio (but that's really for sickos, perverts and the Irish).
Dancing? You should never dance, for why - see cardio above.
Let's see what else fucking sucks. . . . oh, people, they suck. When you're public, at least one person will make some stupid fucking comment about your shoulder, likely some version of "I'd ask how your day is going, but I can already tell by your arm. . . . it's not going great!"
What about going back to work? You better not have a job that requires you to be able to do literally anything.
It hurts to even fucking type this blog, but nobody else at Flappr was willing to put something together today and I feel this retarded responsibility to keep the site fresh and you people entertained. So here I am, one-armed, smelly, tired, sapphire sacked and fighting through the pain to dance like a monkey for you (not literally, though, see above).
Yes, this my version of the Jordan Flu-game.
Yes, I am a hero.
Yes, you should, actually, give me praise.
Happy Hump Day and God Bless America.