There are so many posts over here stacked together, it’s like rush hour on the Howard Franklin Bridge. A flurry of blog activity, you could say. Today is the day I go for the Mohs Surgery I’ve been fussing about. Some of us are saying little prayers for my nose and the rest of us are just hoping it doesn’t end up like MJ’s. Not that I give a whit about MJs nose, dead or alive.
Rich is giving me a great deal of moral support. He’s still sleeping. But I’m about to go roust him so we can change the sheets so when I get home this afternoon from my outpatient ‘procedure’ it’s a clean bed. I always like fresh linens for a special occasion, don’t you know. Didn’t sleep well but put the time to okay use, figuring out how to upload videos and set them to music. Then I read my current (GOOD, highly recommended) book, Cutting For Stone. I’m at the part where the protagonist is watching surgery in the tropics at a mission hospital. For some reason, that didn’t put me to sleep so I fed the cat Friskies Party Mix, one at a time. These are supposed to be cat treats but it’s taken Sophie less than a week to train me into making it her steady diet. She sits on the nightstand and stares…
I asked Rich if he would take pictures and he said yes but wondered if Dr. Spencer will allow that. What do I say? “Dr. Spencer, don’t worry, I’m not going to ever sue you, I just want these to post on my weblog so the whole world wide web can see how great this is?” Anyway, here is the first in the series: (My nose on the morning of the surgery. Considering I’m setting aside all my qualms about my appearances and doing this for educational purposes, be nice. I just noticed the clenched fist. No, I’m not tense. What makes you think so?)
Off to wake Rich, change the sheets and get a script filled for a few xanax. The good doctor gave me seven. In the comfort of my own bed, one would knock me out for 10 hours. But in these circumstances, I’m tempted to take all seven. KIDDING. I’ll take one. And put one in my pocket in case I start feeling crazy nervous midstream.
My mother was, as you know from past writing here, a remarkable woman in her own right- bright, feisty, an extraordinary environmentalist. But she wasn’t exactly June Cleaver in the household aisle. So, while I do miss chatting with her sometimes, you know who I’m really missing right now?(I often can’t believe the nose above produced this nose. Further evidence she’s an alien.)
You’re right. I chatted with her on FaceBook the other night. I was doing that screaming harpy sort of typing, ” Stay hydrated! Only drink clean water! Did you get some pepper spray? Don’t smile or even make eye contact with strangers!” She calmly typed back:
I just got my IRB (International Research Board) approval today because I got my letter from the state government – secretary of urban development and the environment yesterday and faxed it to the IRB and they approved me today and today I rented a car and bought a cell phone
So she is fine. Me, too. I’ll catch up with you later in the day.(Abby! Call your mother!)