Friday at 10:15 a.m., I was sliced and diced to remove another alien from my body and some built up scar tissue. It was just "minor surgery". The famous last words of someone not getting "minor surgery". I got laparoscopy which is way better than getting filleted like a salmon but still, not when you are the fish in question. So now I am sitting here quietly recovering (my favorite mode to recover) with 3 holes in my belly and the overwhelming urge to crawl out of my skin thanks to the general anesthesia that was pumped through me all because I signed a waiver giving them the high sign to pump away.
Basically it causes you to have your first miracle; everything solid in your body turns to liquid. Not just once, but thousands of times until your head melts into your toes and you are so happy to show up to surgery you will sign any waiver they put in front of you. Praise God indeed.
So I'm hanging out recuperating and forgetting at times why I am sore until I see the pictures from the hospital they took during surgery (of my innards, not pictures like those infamous Guantanamo Bay photographs with the anesthesiologists thumbs up over my knocked out lifeless body).
I go to do a simple task and then a nice warm feeling comes over me and I have to sit down until I forgot why I got up in the first place. My mom says I am just warming up for my later years. Maybe she is right, as long as I don't have to perform any more "miracles" this week I will be fine!