Post-op

Well, that was fun.

So far as I know, keeping in mind that I wasn't awake for any of the important stuff — O Twenty-first Century Anesthesia, how wonderful thou art — things went according to plan. There were, however, a few moments of serious disconcert:

• While dragging myself out of bed this morning, I was beset with the worst possible earworm: Men at Work, "Down Under."
  
• "We now ask for a deposit, even from our patients with insurance." I hasten to add, they weren't adamant about it, and they probably would have let me slide.
  
• The anesthesiologist bore entirely too close a resemblance to Harry Dean Stanton.
  
• The clocks were right when I arrived, but didn't feel compelled to remain so: I watched in utter confusion as thirty-five minutes, per the clock in my prep area, passed in a matter of seconds.
  
• Some of these nursing types are entirely too attractive.
  

This is petty quibbling, though. I left here around 8:30 and was back home by three, which isn't bad at all. I thank all of you who expressed kindly thoughts, prayers, or calls for good karma on my behalf.