Announcing the successful birth of a bouncing baby ... well ... blob, measuring a proud 5 inches in diameter, removed by C-section, where C stands for “Carve a ginormous hole in my back.” In the tradition of the Egyptian Pharoahs, who were provided with food for their journey to the afterlife, Beethoven took a nice steak with him, consisting of my entire quadratus muscle. Who needs one of those anyway? He also had them chisel off three projections off my spine (lateral processes), and took a little hip bone. You can't begrudge a guy a souvenir, not after he's given up his life so that I may live. He's so noble.
Thank god for love handles. The doctors found enough blubber there to fill up the excavation, after sort of sqwooshing my remaining muscles around. That was their medical term, sqwooshing, and I'm glad to be sqooshed, because it means they didn't transplant my shoulder muscle into my back or rearrange any other body parts. I like them where they are.
My hospital stay was a comedy of errors with a cast that ranged from Nurse Ratched to Florence Nightingale. They released me five days early, and sent me home where I'm now cuperating, not yet made it to the stage of re-cuperating, which I hope will be better. Recovery sucks.
They tell me the operation was a success, those non-puking guys with no drain tubes sticking out of them, who aren't all numb, or drugged up. Morphine, woo, what can I say? You wouldn't believe the dreams I've been having. Read H. P. Lovecraft. On the good side, all my parts seem to work right, and if I do Tai Chi absolutely perfect it doesn't hurt. Having this done earlier could have saved me years years of practice.
Now I guess I'm a cancer survivor. Do I get 10% off or something?