Update:
Things have taken a turn for the worse. The doctor was right when he said I would feel worse before I felt better. I'm exhausted from not having eaten anything; standing for the duration of a shower is a chore, sitting upright is a chore. I've lost 8 lbs. since Monday. All of the dead skin has sloughed off of my tongue, leaving the raw, uninitiated skin behind. It hurts to even eat a popsicle. I have bruises all over my legs and I don't understand why since I really haven't left the couch since Tuesday. My skin is noticeably more yellow and there are really dark circles under my eyes. I cry at the drop of the hat. I feel so terrible. I hope the pain doesn't last too much past Tuesday, because I don't know how much longer I can take it.

I think I'm allergic to penicillin. My mom called the pharmacist after I'd been itching furiously ever since I left the hospital. I stopped taking it and took a dose of Benadryl instead; I'm still itchy, but it's less and less so as the night progresses. I'm glad we caught that while it wasn't a major problem.

My Vicodin is making me feel nauseated, which is a shame because it works so well at killing pain and knocking me out. I just sent my mom to a 24-hour pharmacy for different medicine at the advice of my doctor. The only thing I hate more than throwing up is the idea of throwing up and having still-unhealed wounds being seared by bile. The feeling has mostly passed now.

My tongue is so messed up. I tried to chew gum today and I found it incredibly difficult. My tongue is very tingly/numb, still extremely swollen, and it's mostly white. I wonder if the top layer of skin is dead. Ughhhhhhh.

I watched Memento for the first time today since I caught it in theaters. I had just taken a large dose of Vicodin, but I found the film surprisingly easy to follow. I was vaguely aware of the twist from the previous viewing, but I hadn't remembered any details. I was more than a little disappointed that I was able to keep up so well.

Speaking of being disappointed with various forms of media, I bought Augusten Burroughs' newest book, Possible Side Effects. I've read 1.5 chapters and I can't really say that I'm motivated to read any more. His voice seems a lot more amateurish than I remembered. He also uses sentence fragments extensively; I understand artistic license and all, but when he does it (and so frequently), it just makes him sound like a bad writer. The humor also seems to fall flat, but I'm having trouble articulating that. Bleh. Maybe I should pick it up again when I feel better.

My mom and brother ate pizza today. They were talking about it when they thought I was asleep, but I heard. Sigh... I miss solid food.

I'll write a longer/better update later on when I'm able to think more clearly (ETA: look below). As for right now, I'm still recovering from my surgery, complete with Vicodin-induced stupors, an extremely sore throat, and an all-liquid diet. I woke up from a nap around 6:30pm to find out that my mom and brother took my dog in for emergency surgery. He was wheezing, which later progressed to a honking-type sound. It turned out he had swallowed a bunch of stuff. He's at an overnight facility now, where he'll be monitored and given an IV for pain, and then tomorrow we'll have to re-transfer him to the first hospital. Hopefully we'll be able to bring him back home tomorrow afternoon. I really liked having him around for my recovery; he just lays there and lets me pet him.

Talia's been gone at a music camp, and in the meantime I've been trying to get people to care about my problems at least enough to acknowledge them, but it feels like I'm talking to several brick walls. At this point, I don't even expect any sympathy; I just want someone to be like, "You exist! Yay for you!"

It's been a rough couple of days.

Hospital/surgery anecdotes:

• The first two hours after I woke up from general anesthesia were when I felt the most pain I've ever felt in my life, kidney stones included. I was involuntarily shaking and moaning from the pain. My tongue was very swollen and very bruised (it was bluish along the edges)--still is, in fact. There was lots of fresh blood in my mouth that I was desperate to wipe out. It was probably the most hellish experience I've ever been through. To make matters that much worse, all of the nurses in the recovery room decided they were going to share their spider horror stories. I'm absolutely petrified of spiders, and even looking at them makes me feel nauseated. Adjectives like "muscular", "crunchy", and "goopy" were being bandied about, adjectives that should never be used to describe any arachnid, insect, or crustacean. I plugged my ears at this point. Stupid asshole nurses.
  
  
• I had a morphine IV hooked up so that I could press a button up to every 5 minutes to receive 1mg of morphine. I wasn't using very much because I hate being out-of-it, and the pain wasn't so terrible after those first two hours. My doctor came by to check up on me and said, "If I were you, I'd be as high on morphine as I could while it was legal."
  
  
• My aunt, uncle, and grandma sent me a balloon, some bracelets, and a stuffed dog that looks like Kelsey (and is even a bit bigger). It really cheered me up, since I didn't expect anything. The gifts were delivered by two little old ladies who worked in the gift shop; one of them said, "Apparently Grandma thinks you're a little girl," which was pretty funny. I replied with, "Well, sometimes I am," because I so am when it comes to stuffed animals given to me for comfort. Especially dogs. Let me say that I would never in a million years bring my own stuffed animal with me to the hospital, but it was so nice having something soft to hold.
  
  
• The two nurses who prepped me for surgery were awesome. I want them as aunts. They commented on how young I looked and how thin I was. One was putting sticky things on my chest for the heart monitor and she said, "Okay, I'm going to stick this under your boob, just so you don't think I'm getting frisky with you." The nurse said "boob". Awesome.
  
  
• Speaking of the sticky heart monitors, I'm allergic to basically every adhesive ever. I also had a feeding tube that was sutured and taped to my nose. After the first two hours of recovery, I think the tape on my nose was the most hellish thing about surgery. It itched so much that I barely slept on Monday night; it got so bad that I was pressing the morphine in order to dull the nerves in my nose. It's now 2am on Thursday and I'm still itching all over. I've used oatmeal wash and hydrocortisone, yet my skin is raw in some places where the adhesive was.
  
  
• My tongue is still very messed up from being clamped. It's swollen in two spots and creased in another. There's a patch of white that I think might be dead skin. It's very tingly. Luckily I have my sense of taste.
  
  
• Speaking of taste, I am sick of my liquid diet. I can't have anything even slightly thicker than water, since swallowing is still nearly impossible. For the most part, I just let stuff make its own way down the back of my throat. I'm sick of the sugary fruity stuff that's pretty much all I am capable of eating. I've made a list of all the meals I can't wait to enjoy once I can finally have solid food. I don't know when this will be; I'm guessing I still have several days, if not a week still, of liquids only. Bah.
  
  

My dad set the deadline to be June 30: that's when we have to have the house listed. My mother did about half a day's worth of work a week ago, and she refuses to do anything else. She says she's too tired and sad to do anything, but we can't afford for her to be tired and sad. She should quit her job and see a therapist, but the house has to get done. In the meantime, I have a thyroid problem, a sleep disorder, and all the stress about not yet having an apartment on campus for the fall--all this on top of the stress of not having the house done. I'm getting to dangerous levels of frustration; I'm certain that if something doesn't happen soon, I'm going to snap.

I'm so frustrated. It feels like I'm invisible. I've written several e-mails and made several calls to various places, but I keep getting ignored. No one is responding and I find that extremely aggrivating.

I'm really sick of everything at this point. We have to get the house cleaned up so we can list it, but I'm the only one doing anything. My mother knows she hasn't been helping, but my stupid sister and stupid brother have these complexes where they think they're being extremely helpful and that they deserve several days off at a time. My dad keeps putting pressure on us to get the house ready to sell, but no one is doing anything.

I don't have housing yet for the fall.

Everything is going wrong and there's so much pressure. I feel a nervous breakdown coming on...