Murphy's Law

Whenever my BFF and I are preparing to share a ridiculous story, we start it with "So this one time..."

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So this one time, I was recovering from brain surgery. Said recovery, though frustrating for the ever-impatient recover-er, was moving along at a surprisingly fast pace and was surprisingly absent of complications. Aside from leaking brain fluid from the perma-hole in le skull, but ya know, it's fine. Feeling better every day, I had a GREAT day last Friday with nearly pre-surgery levels of energy, quite a bit of activity, friends visiting, riotous laughter, movies, and so on. Approximately one hour after the leasing office in my apartment closed on Friday evening, my toilet decided to explode. By explode, I actually mean that there was a faint sound of consistently running  water, followed by the discovery that essentially the whole inside of the tank was SO old and corroded that the "float ball" (or whatthefuckever it's really called) had broken off completely. I called emergency maintenance and was told that, because our apartment has two bathrooms, this wasn't considered an emergency and thus, no one would come until Monday morning. Unfortunately, I didn't have the wisdom or forethought in the moment to remember that, although I'm recovering really well from this surgery, I'm still having dizziness and balance problems at night and making my way out of my room and to my roommate's bathroom when I'm half asleep and nauseated from a million medications is not exactly the easiest thing in the world. If I had thought of that, I would have been significantly more sassy on the phone with this dude.

I awoke in a foul mood on Saturday, partially from poor sleep and partially because the lovely cerebrospinal fluid that I'm leaking from the aforementioned perma-skull-hole (now named Elvira; the bulge -- that word is so gross -- of fluid is named Jefferson... don't tell me you didn't expect them to be named)... anyway, said fluid is building up and thus, giving me headaches. Which make me nervous. Because they're caused by fluid. Fluid that is SPILLING OUT OF A HOLE IN MY BRAIN. So there was drama on Saturday. We finally decided to call an outside plumber, who came Saturday afternoon, and fixed my corroded, sadface toilet.

Sunday was okay, though not amazing -- I was feeling better than I was on Saturday, but still had a headache and increasing concerns about Jefferson and Elvira (yeah, I said it), given that the fluid was gradually moving lower on my head/incision, which they told me to watch for. Despite these concerns, I decided that I really just wanted to wait it out through the day, avoid another trip to the ER, and just be in touch with the neuro clinic early Monday morning. So that was the plan....

Enter Monday morning. I had a therapy appointment at 10:15. Anticipating nausea and tiredness from getting ready, I got up around 8, giving myself plenty of time to rest between showering, drying my hair, and putting on makeup (these are exhausting tasks to do in a row when you're recovering from surgery... as I've grudgingly learned). First catch of the day was some nausea. Annoying, but not unexpected. Then I discovered that I was out of hairspray. Wtf. That said, I was so looking forward to getting out of the house by myself that I continued getting ready, attempting to be unfazed by my crazy hair (shut up, Emilie, it WAS crazy!). I headed out the door around 10 (my appointment was mere blocks away) -- out of the house, driving my car, ALONE, for the first time in 20 days. I got downstairs, literally said "Yay!" out loud when I sat down in my car alone and turned the key. And nothing happened. Incredulous, I turned the key like 8 more times before again talking aloud to myself, this time saying, "You have got to be fucking kidding." I stormed back upstairs to my apartment, proclaimed my car dead, and was VERY close to completely losing it -- partially because I couldn't believe the dead car, and partially because the appointment I was heading to was my first post-surgery therapy session which I omgneeded.

Luckily, my roommate is an angel and went from not ready to ready in about 4 minutes flat and she drove me down the street to my appointment -- and I was only about 8 minutes late, which I thought was impressive! I was irritated that I had "planned" this great, super chill, super excited to be done and over with this brain surgery shit and doing so well therapy session... and then I came in there all flustered and "what the fuck" because of my car. Lame. So, after the session ended, I called a cab for the approximately 3 1/2 minute ride back to my apartment... normally, I would have just walked home, but given my current physical state, I think I would have probably passed out after one block. Cab came about 20 minutes later, I got home, and it was back to the car drama...

Luckily, my mom has AAA (I don't... and I need to change that) and their emergency maintenance folks not only agreed to come out super quickly, but also had a truck that would fit in my underground garage's 6'8" door (at this point, we're still thinking it was going to need to be towed). So they agreed to come... aaand then I suddenly panicked that, if we did indeed need to tow my car and presumably leave it somewhere overnight, then the checks I had sitting in my purse wouldn't get deposited in the bank until at least tomorrow night or Wednesday, which would make paying rent tomorrow exceedingly challenging. Luckily (again), my BFF Emilie just happened to be leaving an off-campus meeting and was able to come pick me up, take me to the bank, and drop me back off at home (have I mentioned lately that I have the best best friend in the entire world? Truth.). I saw the AAA truck idling in the garage entrance, so I hauled ass from Em's car back to my apartment complex, got inside, got downstairs, and let the dude in. This guy was f-ing awesome and said he wanted to try and jump the car before towing it... he jumped it, it started, and then he tested the alternator and ruled that out as the problem, ultimately diagnosing it with a dead battery. He asked if we wanted to take it somewhere else to get the new battery or just have him do it right there.... um, yes please. So the little fucker got fixed without even needing to leave my garage. Hooookay.

Thinking all crises for the day were now over, my mom and I got back up to my apartment and I collapsed on the couch, ready to just not move for a little bit and watch some mindless TV. Turned the TV on..... blue screen. No signal. I'm not freaking kidding. After literally HOURS of messing around with the remotes and receivers and cables and talking to DirectTV punks on the phone (my mom once, my roommate the second time), we still got nothin'. Hopefully tomorrow... and hopefully this fix will not require the $100 service call, but chances are that it likely will.

Throughout ALL of this, I've been quietly freaking out about the ever-expanding Jefferson, wondering if I need to go to the ER, if I get into the clinic ASAP, if my brain is literally starting to squeeze out of Elvira the perma-skull-hole, if there's something I'm doing that's causing the tear in the dura to get larger (and thus release more fluid), if maybe what's pouring from my head isn't cerebrospinal fluid at all but instead some sort of alienesque acid that's going to start poisoning me or burning through my scalp...... (one of these things is not like the other..). Finally, I got a call back from the clinic (I had left a message earlier in the day) and was asked ten million questions about the size and shape and consistency of Jefferson, where exactly the fluid was "going," fevers, vision symptoms, and so on. After a little bit of nagging (with a very patient and understanding nurse who knows how freaked out I've been about the little oddities of recovering from brain surgery), I finally convinced her that, even though it sounds mostly normal to her, I would feel a lot better if I could get it checked out by someone in the clinic. So... appointment with one of the residents tomorrow morning. Yay.

When I started writing this, I thought the post would end here. I was planning on being all like, "And that was my fucking insane day. Now I'm watching X-Files (because I have like 3 seasons on DVD because I'm lame) and eating chocolate pudding and not doing ANYTHING ELSE today so suck it and don't suggest that I move around more to get my energy up. BAM."

But no. The day progressed and now there's more.

So my car registration expires tomorrow, right? My mom and I attempted to go out on Friday and renew the registration and get my required safety and emissions checks, but it was going to be upwards of a 2-hour wait which I didn't think I could physically do at that point. We decided that she would just go back and deal with it this morning after my appointment (with the assumption at that point, of course, that my car would turn on). After all the chaos, and the possibility that the neuro clinic would call back and said they did indeed want to see me today, we decided, instead, that she would just go out super early tomorrow morning and get the registration stuff done. Theeeen the nurse called, said they would have me come to the clinic tomorrow morning instead, so my mom headed out to deal with the car.

Remember that one time when we thought it was really super cool that the AAA guy put the new battery in right in my garage rather than us needing to drive anywhere and/or pay the undoubtedly higher dealership fees? Yeah, funny story. Apparently, when you put in a new battery, it somehow resets gauges and shit in your car. Those gauges and shit are apparently important when you're trying to run an emissions check. Emissions checks are required in Utah because of the nasty ass air quality in the valley. So, she went all the way back out there, got the vast majority of the necessary elements done... and then they said that, in order to complete the emissions test, the gauges had to be reset, which would require a drive on the highway (you apparently just need to get the car over 70mph and then you're cool). They offered to drive from one exit to the next... for $50. Serious? No thanks, friends. So my mom left, saying that we'd drive it on the highway at some point (she doesn't know the area, so I understand the reluctance to just get on the highway and then find her way back to the dealership... Salt Lake is on a grid system which is complicated as hell if you're not used to it), and then we'd bring it back to complete the registration. In the meantime, we have a little temporary paper saying that we are indeed in compliance if one of us gets pulled over on or after Wednesday. So, ultimately this will be three trips to the dealership since Friday. And did I mention that said dealership is 25-30 minutes away?

And for the record, I went through this entire day without hairspray, so I had an abundance of little asshole fly-aways just taunting me all day. I mean really. That's clearly the most ridiculous part of this whole situation.

My GOD.

Now I shall go to bed and pray to sweet baby jesus (there in your itty bitty manger) that whatever pissed off the universe will resolve itself by tomorrow morning.