The surgery was pretty standard. Amy and I got to the hospital at about 7:30am. I was quickly checked in and in no time Amy was instructing me in the finer points of wearing a dress, though hopefully she has no experience with one that doesn't close in the back.

The anesthesiologists used a wacky tool to block the nerves in my shoulder that was a cross between a cattle prod and a ticklish feather. It made my whole arm jump painfully in spite of the drugs that were trickling into me through the IV. By the time I had been washed with iodine and laid back in the gurney I hardly cared what was happening to me. I vaguely remember flopping around in the operating room, but there was no countdown to black for me.

When I woke several hours later I was cold, but at first glance no worse for wear. Of course, I couldn't feel my right arm, which was a blessing, and my left eye hurt like the dickens. After a nap in a device Amy referred to as the Huggy Bear (sort of a sleeping bag with a built in hair dryer to provide heat) I choked down a bagel and convinced them my eye was really buggered up.

With my eyes shut against the pain I worked on not getting motion sick as I was wheeled to the other end of the hospital to see an eye doc. A very nice lady gave me some numbing drops that allowed me to open my eyes. The doc took a quick look, squirted in some dye and looked again. At some point I had managed to scratch my cornea. Argh. He patched me up, which helped with the eye problem, but then the nausea returned along with all that comes up with it.

The poor opthamology student turned sheet white as I puked in their trash can. She probably thought eyes were about as far as she could get from the mess most bodies can produce. That'll learn her!

Amy got me home, but not before one more complication. At the QFC pharmacy the dilligent pharmacist noticed that the name on "my" prescription for narcotics wasn't technically speaking mine. It was some dude named Michael. With minutes to spare before closing time Amy got the surgeon's nurse to promise a number of deeds to the pharmacist in order to get my drugs released.

Since then it's been pretty boring. Every four hours Amy wakes me up, feeds me a slice of bread, and a handful of pills. The biggest thrill was my first physical therapy session today, which was uber painful, but hopefully really good as well. The exercises hurt, but they're supposed to, right?

But enough of this. My one-finger typing is really starting to bug me and the drugs are starting to kick in again. Looks like it'll be another fun four hours! Woo hoo!