Day 92 — The Parents

My day started at the unreasonable hour of 5:30 a.m. Parched and morning breathy, I climbed into the back seat of my dad's truck and directed him toward the Midtown Surgery Center, where we shuffled into the lobby for a fun round of paperwork and network morning shows. An hour later, I was called back and told to drop trou and everything else, pee in a cup, put on a gown, put a paper cap over my hair, put on some little booties, and stuff my belongings into a plastic bag. Then I hopped onto a little gurney (with a heated blanket!) and laid around while the pre-op nurse stuck things into my hand (which I couldn't see, since I had to take my contacts out, too) and fussed over it because my veins were so shy. What can I say, they'd never been seduced by a needle before.

A little later, I was in the operating room, telling the anesthesiologist that I wasn't feeling anything, and watching as he poked a needle into the IV and filled it with sleep juice. And then I woke up with a bandage on my foot and a can of apple juice in my hand and the distinct feeling that I had had a crazy dream that just slipped through my fingers and would never come back to me. Like a stray dog in a parking lot, running away from me, ducking under the cars.

Oh well, it wasn't a big deal and I'm fine. I will probably try to go back to work tomorrow unless my foot is really sore and I can't drive or walk. I've got hydrocodone to help me out with that, though. (Except for the driving part, I guess.) Man, that stuff knocks me out without even knowing it. Just now I passed out in the sunlight in front of the Colbert Report and dreamed about dunking my foot in some water and then freaking out because it's supposed to stay bandaged and dry. And then I woke up and Chappelle's Show was on, and it was dark outside.

I've got to be supervised for 24 hours, so Phil's stepping in for the parents (who were so precious and doting and I love them very much). No wine during that time.

I am counting the minutes. And I'm going back to sleep.

Project 365