Clearly I won't be able to relate every last thing, but here is the meat of it.

The visiting nurse was right on time, so TinyMom and I got out of the house at 5:02am. Perfect. No traffic. No panic. I took my good-girl pills around 5:30 so that I wouldn’t cry or otherwise embarrass myself.

The registration area was plush and comfortable. There I was shown to an upholstered chair and met the anesthesiologist, my doctor’s medical assistant, and my doctor. She marked me and said she'd see me later. Kind of had a minor sense of "oh, shit, here I go," but that passed quickly. I asked the gas-passer to intubate me gently because I’m a singer. He did a great job.

The next thing I remember is the recovery room at 11:44 or so. There was a clock directly beyond my bed, so I kept checking in with it. Little reality checks. By noon I felt pretty much fully awake. Praise the new sleepy meds.

On 2SW, I met my nurse Kaitlyn. She was younger than me and very sweet. Rebecca was the aide, and she was also young and helpful. When I say young, I mean too young to know who MacKenzie Phillips is.

At first I was in a lot of pain, maybe a 6 out 10. They got me set up on a PCA (patient-controlled analgesia) with Dilaudid. I highly recommend this drug. Woot!

Ruben came to visit and brought me such a gift - he rubbed my feet with lotion! How nice. Then my friend Nan came by with flowers, lovely orchids. I was still a little loopy but we had a nice chat, from what I recall.

My night nurse was Delores, the other nurse was Radi, and there was also an aide named Kristos. Kristos asked about my lat/long tattoo, and I told him the story of the rescue at the waterfall. He said that's one of the reasons he likes America: people help. He said if something like that accident had happened in Africa, it would have been rare for anyone to help out. We agreed that maybe people help that way in Europe; he was trying to say that it happens "only in America".

I had left my iPhone at home because I didn't want it to be stolen. Let me tell you that I was astounded at how lost I felt without it. No email. No calls. No Facebook. Hmmm. The funny thing was that my friends (real, not just cyber-only) were online, looking for me. (Thanks to everyone who stopped by, called and left messages and emails.)

By the middle of the night, I was walking myself to the restroom, pushing my (very squeaky) IV pole in front of me. My time consisted of two-hour intervals as follows:

-request IV pain meds from the PCA
-receive meds
-receive food service if called for previously in another stupor session
-channel surf
-startle awake, remote in hand, watching something I didn't recall choosing
-get up, unplug the IV pole and walk to the potty
-come back
-call food service on occasion
-repeat

Fun, eh? I got pretty used to food on demand. Best macaroni and cheese I've had in a long time, but worst French Dip. I didn’t realize that you MUST request every little thing. This includes any salt whatsoever, or a pat of butter, or sweetener for your coffee or tea. Ruben brought me salt from the cafeteria, and my night nurse, Radi, found a pat of butter for my English muffin early this morning.

My doctor was surprised to see me walking down the hall as she approached my room. She remarked that I didn't look like someone who had just had major surgery. Yay! I got new dressings and made an appointment for the 28th for a dressing change and perhaps the removal of some of the stitches.

Mommy came to get me, and Lance came to visit. Fun! Got my meds, and then had lunch at House of Hong. Yummy dim sum.

Now I'm at mommy’s house, loving the Percocet, needing my hair washed.