Just a thought… When I screamed at the gynecologist, it was an ovary action. [Abbi Crutchfield]
And, with no caffeine in me this morning, I’m off to the hospital!
Nothing serious – it’s more of a procedure, no new openings, thanks – and it’s been slated since forever. With COVID-19, things were put on hold and then I got my time and date, which is today. Seems I had some undesirable side effects to HRT (hormone replacement therapy) so I’m dealing with the aftermath.
Not to worry – once I wake up from a glorious drug-induced nap, it’ll just mean a few days of recovery and a few weeks without strenuous exercise (good-bye bike for a bit) but I’m usually pretty fast at bouncing back.
I will use this day as a way to learn and write about health care in a hospital from the inside; seeing what’s different about the experience, compared to other hospital visits. Come to think of it, I don’t believe I’ve been checked into one since, oh, 1991. There have been a few operations, but usually done in an office.
Did I ever tell you about the time I had my boobs done? Actually, I know for a fact that I didn’t. Eventually the whole thing went sideways – and I wish I wasn’t being literal – but that’s a story for another day. Or book!
Yeah, too much information? Maybe. But we’re all friends here, right?
Anyway, I’ll be back with a beautiful picture – er, not of me – tomorrow. It was something in the sky I’ve never seen before!
Meantime, a happy 87th to our dad. He’s in quarantine (house arrest, as he calls it) until tomorrow. Although we’ve never lost sight of the fact that we’re lucky to still have him, believe me, we so wish we were with him this year as we were for his 86th (I’m sandwiched between Heather and Leslie with only sister Cindy missing), but we’ve all got our fingers crossed he’s still great at 88!