Sound the Alarm

Mitch posted this sign in my hospital room so I'd know right away.

There's nothing like a little surgery to put things in perspective. Fortunately I got in and out of the hospital quickly and without need of a bedpan, although lots of other unpleasantness took place within my thirty-four hour stay, not the least of which was a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast that I am certain was watered-down cat food. (Good thing the doctors and nurses at Maine Medical Center are way better than the cooks.)

Now at home, three days post-op, I finally stuck a toe back into the ocean of society and found that I don't care a whit about whether or not President Obama made a secret ransom payment to the Iranians for the release of four hostages, and care even less about nude photos of Orlando Bloom on vacation with Katy Perry. What does concern me is my brand new body part that will set off an alarm at airport security. And that later today, around noon, I will have to give myself another shot in the stomach of a blood thinner so I won't develop a blood clot that could kill me. (Yuk.)

Screw Trump and Hillary! Their continuing antics pale in comparison to the exhausting leg exercises that lay ahead and the visiting nurse who is coming to draw blood and do God knows what else to me. I've got a boatload of medications to swallow that are slowing down my normal bodily functions and glasses of prune juice to drink. (I'm hoping to finally go to the bathroom today.)

Regardless of who wins in November, I am no longer my original self. There is now something inside my body that was made in a factory. That fact, and the very thing itself, will take some getting used to. Oh well, at least I lived, and that is truly the bottom line as my husband so wisely pointed out. (See photo.)