One day this will all just be a distant mammary

Many thanks to my brother in law, Danny, for that little piece of witticism.

Warning:  this post is being written under the influence of narcotics.  Anything I say cannot be held against me.

So the surgery went fine, obvi.  This is not my ghost perched at my computer, my sexy anti-embolism stocking clad feet resting uncomfortably up on my bed, per Nurse Hub's instructions.  He takes those rules the surgery nurses gave him uber seriously.

It's pretty crazy, y'all, because as I was being wheeled to where the surgery would take place and the nurse was setting my IV up with some wonderful drug that made me say out loud "I'm beginning to feel something...zzzzzzz"...

...all of a sudden I woke up in recovery.

Anesthesia.  It's pretty much the bomb.

My eyes were goopy and so heavy it took ages to finally raise, but I noticed a different nurse standing beside my bed.  And Momma didn't raise no impolite fool so I slurred out "We haven't met before, how're you?"

And she had the nerve to laugh at me.  Hmpf.  At lease I know that even in my most druggiest state, I can still be non-wenchy.  Always good to know, that.

So it turns out that they removed 6.25 pounds from my bosomy area.  That's a lot, folks.  You need something to compare it to?  Go to your kitchen pantry and pull out your 5 pound bag of sugar.  I know, that's a lot, huh?

Now I'm all wrapped up in this really sexy ace bandage with crazy long tubes, full of goopy red goo.  I try not to dwell on it's contents.  Neither should you.

Also?  My soft gel laxatives haven't started working yet.  You probably shouldn't dwell on that either.  Perhaps I should avoid talking at all whilst under the influence of Vicatin.

On that TMI note, peace out and have a righteous Friday.