Is this where the bacon is?

Figured I’d put up an old blog, since I have nothing new to say at the moment. 

Normally I don’t go in for all this killing animals for the chance of winning a pair of shorts from them, and normally I’d question the motives of a wolf if it had such a thing on its person… or animal… or whatever you say in that instance, but this is World of Warcraft, and wolves carry shorts, gloves, guns, swords, small pouches and occasionally broken shields. I dunno, maybe they’re preparing for war or something… A war that needs linen goods. And broken shields. Nevertheless, I run at them with my trusty worn shortsword and give several of them the beatdown. Aha! I just exploded! Must have gone up a level! Yes! Now I can hit slightly harder than I could ten seconds ago! So I run back to the guy who sent me on a ‘quest’ (if you can call it that… I’m sure he could have gotten some meat from the butchers or something) and give him the stupid meat, and he shoots me a look that was halfway between ‘what took you so damn long’ and ‘MEAT!!! I LIKE TASTY SAVOURY!!!’ Needless to say I took my prize and ran off rather quickly, in case he ran out of wolf meat and wanted my leg as a second course.

A while later, I’m walking through this forest, and this guy comes over and starts hitting me with a butter knife! I was like ‘Hey! What are you doing?’ and I hit him with my sword। It took his red bandana thing because it looked cool, but I couldn’t tie a knot in it to I threw it away। It landed on a nearby rabbit and made it look like a little rabbit superhero. I watched the little guy for half an hour before I realised I was supposed to be going to the inn to tell some guy that some stuff has happened. As it turned out, I ended up being the messenger between two lazy soldier guys who seemed to like picking on low-level warriors. I figured I’d leave revenge for a later date because I was too preoccupied in trying to get myself a slightly better sword by selling everything else I own to the point where I can’t actually go outdoors without getting arrested for being illegal.

So once I’d killed some more clothes wolves, I stood in the middle of Goldshire, as it’s called, and waited for an idea to pop into my head pertaining to what I was to do next। Then this guy came over, asking me if I wanted to join his guild… I was very dubious, as it reminded me of that time some old guy tried to coax me into his house with sweets. Luckily for me, I didn’t like liquorice. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, so this guy comes over to me and offers me money to sign this bit of paper. I like money, so I signed it as quickly as my stubby warrior fingers would go, and held my hands out to receive the free money. I danced. It was a tasty moment. That gave me an idea for what to do next. I was tired of killing wolves and petty thieves, so I thought I’d go and kill some mining dudes that had stolen some stuff. I thought ‘it’s time to get my crime solving on!’ and headed south to the mine. I got there and there was this one dude with a big gold tooth. I forget his name. I killed him and stole his tooth. Crimefighting has its rewards!

The big city awaited। I walked down this seemingly endless road, until I got to the end. In about four minutes. The city was huge, with large, unnecessary statues of people who lost adorning the sides of the pathway. I ignored them and headed for the centre of town, where there were plenty of people to tell me what to do. I did their tasks one by one, taking every opportunity to stop and get a little bit drunk from the cheap reward wine I was given. Mmm… It was tasty, like vinegar is. I like vinegar. I stumbled upon this guy standing by a big open gap, with some kind of flying liony eagle thing, and he says “gimme some money and you can fly anywhere you want… well… that you’ve already been to…” I thought to myself how useless this was, but then I realised he’d actually given me the cue to get a wriggle on around the continent and find places to fly to. On the way to my first place with a flight connection, I saw some wolves attacking this little guy, and went over to help. Well… I say help, I mean distract the wolves enough to get them to run after me instead of the guy they were chasing. He was then killed by the strangely infamous fiend, the ‘Hogger’. This was a strange cross between a pig and a small man. I’m not even gonna ask what went on there… I’d rather not know. So I was left with several wolves on my trail, then I remembered something. My early days as a clothes wolf slayer had taught me that wolves aren’t the smartest, or most agile, so I climbed a tree and waited for them to go away. Three days I waited, and they’d finally given up to chase some other poor guy.

I arrived at the place that has the liony eagle thing terminal and set up my connection, then I went up to the big tower to see if there were any errands that needed to be done. This one guy said ‘yeah, go kill some stuff for me’ and this other guy said ‘do you want to see some puppies?’. I stayed away from that guy. I wanted to see the view from the top of the tower, and proceeded up the stairs to the top. I was standing right on the edge of the wall at the top, adjusting my camera angle to get a good view of the surroundings. And I fell off. Good job none of my bones or anything broke, that’d have been annoying…

Well, I haven’t written in a while, so this might turn out terrible. Who cares anyway, as long as I can get a few chuckles.

It all started in December, when I was having excruciating dental pain, through every fault of my own. I took it upon my bad self to go to the emergency dental hospital, which is run almost entirely by students. While on the outside this may fill you with terror, the inside will fill you with terror. I mean.. No.. That’s precisely what I mean. Students poking around in your mouth with sharp objects and drills? Yeah, you need steel cojones to come here… Or you need to see a doctor, because having steel balls can’t be healthy… Anyway, back to the matter at hand. I went and waited for some time, in the cold, for the place to open. Which it did, somewhat predictably. Luckily my endeavours in getting there a good while before it opened paid dividends, as I was something like fourth in the queue. So in I went, with the other future dentistry victims, and queued again, at the reception. They gave us all a form to fill in, and made the thirty-odd of us share half a broken pencil in an attempt to frustrate a room full of people in pain further. Once that was done, I was ushered through to another waiting room, where I sat and waited patiently for my turn. Luckily the process the receptionists whittled down all the idiots with mild toothache (paracetamol is in asda for like 19p or something, ya cheapskates!) and the ones in actual pain. This room was a lot less occupied.



I was already filled with terror because the last time I came to this place, they jabbed me with needles and left half my face numb. And they told me not to hit myself, no matter how amusing it is to hit myself and not feel it, because once the numbness faded, I would feel it all at once. Yeah, they told me not to.. Did I listen? No, I swore very loudly at a colleague, and fell over as though I’d been punched by a boxer. The type with the funny gloves and even funnier shorts, not the dog.. The dog, depending on it’s upbringing would have either eaten me or licked me to death, and that’s not the impression I’m trying to go for here. Anyway that was then. I was called in to see the dentist, who is quite possibly the nicest man I’ve ever met in my entire life. He completely eased my terror, by telling me he wasn’t going to do any procedures at this appointment. He did have the traditional poke around the gob with metal objects, you know, to show he was all dentist-y and that. And that was when he gave me these two options.



1. Have several needles in each gum and have the teeth removed that way, remaining conscious the whole time, or,



2. Go to hospital and receive a general anaesthetic and have the whole procedure done under cover of unonsciousness.



Guess which one I picked.



The dentist sent me home, with a prescription for some strong painkillers to pass the time between this point. Luckily, and by some degree of fluke, I managed to not pay for the prescription. Sweet relief.



I went home, hoping that the letter which would inform me of my appointment would arrive fairly soon, with the optimism of a child waiting for Christmas. That optimism soon waned when I actually approached Christmas and I still hadn’t had the letter. Imagine a scene in a movie where a calendar is dropping all the dates from December through to early February. We arrive at the 7th of February, where my mind is completely elsewhere, namely my trip to Manchester to see Dream Theater on the 9th. Surprise surprise, it’s Cilla—-no it’s not, it’s my letter. It arrived, much to my delight, until I opened it. My appointment was scheduled for the same day of the concert. I was mortified. But luckily my mortification was short lived, and they were more than happy to move the appointment to the Monday after. Panic averted. So the next few days passed, I went to the concert with my friends, and came home with many more t-shirts than what I’d planned to come home with.



Monday. Appointment day. I was up at 6.00am because I was misguided in my belief that Aintree hospital would be in Aintree. Clearly, some bright spark had decided that Fazackerley hospital should also be named Aintree, but neglect to tell anyone about it. Well, they told everyone but me. Off I toddled, spending several gruelling hours on buses, from St Helens to Aintree, getting to Aintree and calling them to say I couldn’t find the hospital, only for them to tell me it’s not in Aintree. I was fuming. Fah, yoo, ming. As they pronounce it in certain parts of Liverpool. So I got another bus back to the city centre, and yet another bus to the hospital from there. i’d spent 5 and a half hours on buses in one morning. I felt like running out in front of the next one, I was that fed up with them.



So I eventually got to the hospital, and it was a hospital because there were ambulances outside it, and there were random people wandering around wheeling a pole with a bag of liquid on it with them. I thought to myself “what a handy way to store drinks on a walk!” It may become apparent to you that I’m an idiot. I went into the hospital, and approached the reception. They’d been expecting me. You know, because I had an appointment and that. I sat and waited for a few minutes until a man with a funny voice came in and called for me. He took me into the next room, and proceeded to stick cotton buds up my nose. I was shocked and confused in equal measure! He then informed me he’d need a more intimate sample. “Flowers and chocolates first mate!” I thought to myself, but he ordered me to the toilet where he took a swab of somewhere I won’t mention for reasons of common decency.



On to another waiting room. I waited for about half an hour in here before I was beckoned into a consultation room. By a man with strange growths. and by strange growths I mean he had like an entire second head trying to grow out of the side of his actual head. He was funny as hell though, putting me at ease when he was explaining that he had to ask me some very personal questions. I answered them promptly because of the way Growth-Face-Man had asked them, not putting any emphasis on the fact they were very personal at all. He also likes sci-fi and is into metal. So he’s alright in my book. This little meeting was made even better when he told me I didn’t have to have my blood taken. I wanted to hug the little man there and then, but I restrained myself. I was visibly relieved though.



Onwards, and the day of my surgery approached. I arrived at the hospital at 7.15 in th morning, as I was told to get in for half 7. My dad gave me a lift, because he’s awesome like that. I sat in yet another waiting room, although this one had a TV, so I was to pretend to be unemployed for a while, watching daytime TV. I was called into a room to be given my hospital gowns and awesomeness socks. Then I was called into a room to be told what surgery I was having, this guy drew on my face with the most permanent marker EVER. Then I was called into a room to confirm that I knew that the previous guy hadn’t got it quite right. Then I was called into a room by the anaesthetist who told me I could have numbing gel on my hand so I didn’t feel the needle. I wanted to hug that guy. Then I was called into another room to have my heart scanned, and I can confirm that it’s bloody massive and whoever gets it is bloody lucky because it’s a big heart. Then, finally, after seven hours of waiting, TV and popping in and out or rooms, I was asked to change into the gowns, and I was then escorted to the surgical ward. They all remarked that I didn’t need the marks on my face. Well at least they found it funny.



I jumped onto the bed and they put the side up so I couldn’t fall off (this outcome was far more likely than say, me trying to escape). And I was asked to put on a hair net. I felt like I was being a science. They wheeled me into theatre, where I was asked all the questions I’d been asked buy Growth-Face-Man, marker-drawy-draw-draw-man and all the other doctors, nurses and people inbetween. My hand was completely numb, and I was so grateful for this. I was informed by the surgeon that I had good veins (ladies, take heed) before I was distracted by someone over the other side of the bed. Then the surgeon told me to expect something cold running up my arm.



Gone.



Next thing I knew, I was awake in the recovery ward, feeling very groggy and weak, and my eyes were blurry. This was probably the most unpleasant part of the whole process. The nurse took the needle out of my hand, and I was wheeled onto a regular ward to recover and be monitored as I came around from the surgery fully. My mouth was numb in a few places, and tingly in others. I lay there for a while, and then the food cart came around. At first I declined, as my mouth was too numb and I didn’t want to wear a chicken casserole. However, as the desert trolley appeared, my mouth had recovered some feeling, so I had a yoghurt. Because I’m hard to the very core. I was kept in for a few more hours, monitored every so often, then my dad came to pick me up. Not before the nurse gave me some super duper painkillers that made everything seem a bit fluffy.



I’m now almost completely recovered from the surgery now, so I can get on with my life again without the pain I had at the start of the blog.



Fin.

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Do questions at me! http://formspring.me/Mikeyfer