My minor surgery turned into something more serious. I’m okay now, I think, but I wasn’t. And I’ve never been in that position before.

What I thought was going to be a quick in-office slice ‘n’ dice became a deep surgery before I knew it. Sedated and anesthetized, tube-down-the-throat, IV-in-my-hand, girlfriend-trying-not-to-cry surgery. I’ve had a relatively healthy life, and I can count my hospital visits on one hand (stitches above my eye when I was 5 when I slipped on a wooden floor and hit my head on a bedframe, two separate instances of stepping on a screw sticking out of a board). I’ve had minor dental surgery to have a wisdom tooth removed. I never expected this to be serious, and it all happened so quickly that I didn’t have the chance to be scared about it.

When I woke up, I was back in the recovery room. My girlfriend was there. I was surrounded by doctors and nurses who were trying to explain things to me, though I couldn’t exactly get a good grip on my brain, which was slippery and kept on fading out of focus. By the time surgery was over, an icy snowstorm had taken over the valley, and we crept along the roads to get medication and get home.

I now have a tube coming out of me, which should only last for a few weeks. The purpose of the tube is to create scarring, since muscle blocked part of the procedure, or something like that. Things are sutured into place, large wounds are left open to drain, bloody gauze is being placed and replaced. I’m on a diet of soup and bread, and I’m taking bets on whether or not I’ll lose or gain weight being stuck in bed for a few weeks, but eating minimally. Food has never tasted so good. Ramen feels like the most exciting thing in the world. I’m really looking forward to being able to eat a burger at The Daily Planet.

Three or four more doctor visits until I know if everything is healed up. Typing from bed, watching all-day marathons of nonsense, and just starting to lose my mind from boredom. I’m psyched to start freelancing again, but it’ll have to wait.