Nurse! Scalpel. (Cue the Coma).

Tomorrow is my long awaited umbilical hernia repair surgery and it’s at the crack of flippin’ dawn. Original date was 5 weeks ago but my anesthesiologist Larry “the legend” Livermore refused me the necessary intoxicants due to my “extreme” sleep apnea and lack of CPAP machine. A few weeks ago, they hooked a brother up with a nice, new, shiny machine which has been improving my health gradually but beautifully, hence the go ahead with this surgery date of November 29.

The anesthesiologist warned me that I might not wake up without the machine but where’s my guarantee?? I feel like if I go comatose, the best parts will be an instant beard and massive weight loss. Plus I like sleeping, like a lot, so there’s another possible bonus. Also, as a child, one thing I never thought I’d have is my own personal anesthesiologist. Ps this blog is quickly turning into a twisted drinking game of sorts, though we know I don’t drink so every time I say anesthesiologist, you have to eat a Christmas chocolate. Don’t have any? A) What is wrong with you and B) Pause reading this and go buy some.

Now, back to this possible coma. The likelihood is no doubt a fraction of a percent and of course, with the CPAP in my corner, that number decimates even further. Chances are I will awake, drowsy and sore, like any other surgery victim. And my driver, the lovely Alexx, will wheelchair me into the awaiting chariot and after hobbling feebly up my stairs and into my dwelling, I will find a spot, most likely a couch and remain there for a good ten days. I’ll change my own pampers if I have to.

Oh, and sorry I made you go purchase Turtles or Pot of Gold or whatever suits your fancy. I’m all done with that word.

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