My wife had a pretty invasive surgery on Wednesday morning…. into the mid afternoon.  The whole family was there to help with the procedure (or so it seemed).  They pulled she & I into a “room” and had her put her surgery uniform on while I sat quietly, trying not to make jokes or think of old Seinfeld jokes about the doctor’s office.  After a few attempts and misses, she got the gown and socks and heart monitor stickers and all the other stuff on.  And then we waited.  I had hoped we’d wait for half an hour so we could be together quietly before she got cut.  But our wait was what got cut.  Within a very few minutes, the first of probably eight doctors came into our “room”(when I say room, I mean a non-walled space, defined by curtains and equipment) to ask about sixteen hundred questions that any eight year old would know.  Two minutes after the first doctor walked away, the second was there, asking the same questions, but also poking the wife and adjusting her hair or gown.  The third did the same, but also checked her I.D. and asked where we lived.  It just kept getting stranger and stranger.  The last doctor came in, gave a quite british smile*, then told her that he would be putting her to sleep for the day.  And that’s when I left and the wife left America for a few hours while very highly trained individuals cut and pulled and poked and sewed her for several hours.

I tell you that to tell you this…  I’ve been at this hospital for 28 hours and it’s probably time for a short commercial break.  The wife is awake again and quite alert, though could probably use a meal not sucked through a straw.

I’ll give a real update shortly… by shortly, I mean a few days.

* By british teeth, I meanbritish teeth.  If you don’t understand, then here’s a visual aid for you.

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