…or boobless in boston? No? ok, ok, I think we can all agree that percocet has not made me any wittier or more creative.
The deed is done. Surgery was last wednesday and went, I’m told, smoothly even while taking nearly twice as long as the surgeon had anticipated. I came out of anesthesia nauseated and that is precisely where I stayed for the next 15 or so hours as I dozed off and on sitting in our leather recliner in the living room as people came and went with well wishes, gifts, cards and food. The concrete fact is that I am bandaged up and bound tighter than the proverbial sausage. And I can’t for the life of me remember what the proverb about the sausage is.
At any rate, the layers, like the mask, can only hint at what lies beneath. Reality, ever changing, offers only wisps of dreamlike quality possibilities. Sometimes what is buried deep is exposed in tiniest glimpses. The hint of a smile. The glint of an eye. The slightest of movements. I cannot say for certain the result. Nor even guess at possible outcomes.
I can say this however, that I feel as though literally and figuratively, my heart is closer to the surface than it has ever been.
Still breathing in gratitude.