My friend Vicki, who is all in all one of the coolest chicks I know, is in Australia for a few weeks.

Let me describe Vicki to you first:  Fire Captain, Paramedic, Mother, Babe, Fashionista…you get the picture?  She’s amazing.

Ok, now add to that Adventure traveller.

Hate her yet?  It’s tough not to.

Well, Vicki had to get ready for her trip, and that was no easy feat.  Two boys, a husband, packing, planning, international details to be taken care of…hectic doesn’t begin to describe it.

But it seems in the midst of all of that, she had time to think of little ol’ me and my stinkin’ knee surgery.  Today, the day after my surgery, My Captain snuck out to run “an errand” and came back with this:

That’s right.  She sent me an edible bouquet, and had arranged several days before her trip that My Captain would go pick it up for her.

Those brown things?  Yeah, those are chocolate covered luscious red, sweet and juicy strawberries.  Dear sweet mama!

And the note…very sweet:

Now, not only do I have to be jealous of the fact that she is so accomplished, but now I have to add to that fact the knowledge that she is also more thoughtful and sweet and generous than I will ever be.

I’m really starting to hate her.

(But not as much as I love her.)

I have to say, this is the first fruit bouquet I’ve ever had, and I love, love, LOVE it.  It is so gosh darn fresh!  The company’s name is:

Edible Arrangements.

So fresh!  So juicy!  So yummy, that it’s almost worth getting cut for!

Thank you, Dear Vicki!

love,

me

Yesterday’s surgery went off like clockwork.  My knee, it seems, did not have a torn ACL, just like Dr. Raffo surmised.  But, niether was the main issue arthritis, though there was some of that in there.

In fact, none of us were ready for what we found to be the major cause of pain.

At first, it appeared on the arthroscope as a piece of disconnected cartilage.  Cartilage  that had been swimming around my knee, causing immense pain and swelling:

That big white chunky thing? Yep, that is what we THOUGHT was the piece of disconnected cartilage.

But when Dr. Raffo adjusted the zoom and aperture for the arthroscope, he found something entirely different.  Something so crazy, we were all surprised and dismayed:

That’s right….it wasn’t a piece of cartilage.  It was a Parasitic Twin! If you look carefully, you can see it actually looks just like me!  Crazy!  Complete with Sunglasses!

Of course, we were all aghast…and the Doc removed it post-haste.

Obviously, my knee feels much better, though it has a bit of healing to do yet.

All I can say is that hopefully someday our diagnostic tools will be able to catch these things earlier on.  It seemed like such a shame to remove the happy little bugger.  But out it had to come.  And thank God for medical science!!!

Thank you so much Doctor Raffo and staff!

In preparation for tomorrow’s knee surgery, I’m making cookies.

HUH?

Yep.  Cookies.  You see, I’ve been in enough surgeries to know that the experiences surrounding the actual medical procedure, Pre and Post Op, are really key to a good outcome. And I’m not taking any chances.

In other words, I’m going to bribe my nurses with home-baked cookies.

I’m not above this kind of thing.  Cookies are the universal language.  The ultimate peace-offering.  Good-Will insurance.

I’ve had mean nurses before.  Thankfully, not often.  Fortunately the number of good nurses far outweigh the number of mean ones.   But reality dictates that there always will be a chance that I may be assigned a disgruntled caregiver.  An unhappy camper.  A Nurse Ratchet.  And if I do, I’ll be prepared.

The advantage to having a broken down body that has required multiple surgeries, is that I’ve had an opportunity to find the Achilles heels of ‘Nurse Ratchets.’  I have unlocked the mystery to win them over:  Chocolate Chip Cookies.

I’ll be writing a treatise on it in the near future, but my research is not yet complete.

It also works on policemen, firefighters, overworked teachers, and my children.  It does not, however, work on the employees at the Drivers License Bureau.

They are too far gone.

Tomorrow is my knee surgery.

The day I’m getting cut.

I don’t know what else will happen.  There might be an ACL reconstruction.  There might be a chopping of the Meniscus.  There might be dancing and cheering and angels singing.

I won’t know, I’ll be asleep.

I wonder how many surgeons have picked their noses, or farted, or sneezed on a patient when they are under anesthesia.  It bears asking, but not until after my surgery, I think.

Still, I believe I’ll bathe in Purell after it’s over.

I’m only a little anxious.  I’ve been through far, far worse surgeries than this measly little arthroscopy.  I’ve had organs taken, and my heart burned (oblated) and other gross, and oddly fascinating things done to me.

Most of them legal in the U.S.

I heard a theory that being anesthetized over and over and over again can affect your memory and other mentating parts.  This from Livestrong.com:

“Experience and research suggest potential concerns about cognitive function for  patients who undergo surgery under general anesthesia, according to Harvard  Health Publications. A decline in cognitive ability after surgery has been  observed in both major and more minor surgical procedures.”

So, if post surgery, I don’t remember you, or this blog, or where my belly button is, we’ll know why.

Wish me luck!

I had one eye half-open, and the other still hermetically sealed.  Stumbling to the kitchen, I pushed the ‘on’ button to our beloved Keurig Coffee maker, and wobbled over to the fridge.  I love mornings when I’m not rushed, when I can begin at a nice, easy, relaxed pace.  Nothing is better than a gentle awakening. With a smile, a sigh, and a tug, I opened the fridge door,

and it hit me.

Hard.

Like a big knuckly fist had punched me square in the nose.

The stench was indefinable.  Part garlic, part onion, part something-died-in-the-non-too-distant-past.

My other eye flipped open faster than a runaway roller shade.

“UGH!”

I slammed the door shut.

I don’t know what it was, but I do know I need to find it, remove it, and clean out the fridge before My Captain gets home.  I don’t want him to suffer the same fate.

But I’m afraid.  I’m very afraid.

What could it be?  What forgotten leftover has been evolving in the back of my fridge?  And what if it was just the right combination of organic content that it passed some evolutionary barrier hitherto unknown to man, and has achieved a sentient state?  What if I go in to get it, and it eats my hand?

It’s better not to think about it.  There’s nothing else for it.  I’m going in.

I’m going in.

But first, coffee……