endcoda

(in my experience, bc this was the first thing i wrote after waking up from surgery a couple hours ago)

since you can’t eat beforehand, I went in pretty grumpy-hungry but believe me, nervousness takes care of that QUICK and i completely forgot

if you have good staff, they notice when you‘re nervous & chat calmly without overwhelming you

anesthesiologists and other staff members repeatedly ask what surgery you are getting done to make sure you were properly informed and to avoid mixups; made me nervous (bc why did no one know what surgery they were doing with me??) until my anesthesiologist explained that they just have to hear me say the words

during prep, different people will be doing different things and giving instructions on what to do (make a fist, put your arm there, etc.), sometimes overlapping (adhd hell)

the face mask was placed over my mouth and nose with just normal breathing air for like 3 minutes while they were still prepping (i assume to get me used to the sensation?)

once the drugs started coming, my very very first instinct was „oh, i‘m gonna throw up“

i didn‘t throw up but then everything went hazy and blurred, kinda like being REALLY tired-drunk

one of the anesthesiologists was standing behind me and caressing my face while talking to me and promising to take care of me when she noticed i was getting freaked out; the other one was administering the drugs

Whumpuary 2026 Day 15

Whumpee looks the same at first glance. Normal enough, for dying and returning.

But in time, the... subtler changes become apparent.

Their best friend looks them in the eye for the first time since they came back.

It's a different shade of blue.

Their touch is always icy cold, as if they never recovered the body heat lost during death.

They smile just a little too wide.

Or not wide enough.

Their teeth a little too sharp.

Sometimes Whumpee stares into the shadows, perhaps lost in memory, perhaps challenging a lurking entity.

The evidence of the wound that killed them is still there.

A jagged scar, messily healed.

The shoulder that was broken before the final blow still aches, healed, but not properly.

Yet pain doesn't affect them in the same way.

Whumpee stares at the blood running down their arm from an accidental cut numbly, as if it were happening to somebody else.

They walk off injuries that would have incapacitated anyone else, ignoring stab wounds, injuries to vital organs, blows that should cause severe concussions.

But the only wounds that bother them are the old wounds from the day they died.

Whumpee flinches at sudden movements.

When they sleep, they are tormented by nightmares.

In battle, they are a force to be reckoned with.

Enemies are found torn to pieces with no mercy.

Their teammates try to reconcile with the changes.

Whumpee is still the same person, after all.

Aren't they?