Well, I'm sore. Getting your hernia stitched makes you sore. MSM drove me to the hospital from their home in Hollister and I checked in at 6:30 Monday morning, went on the table two hours later, got out (I think) around 9:45. We wondered when they'd let me go and figured later in the afternoon, around four. Since Hollister is an hour and a quarter's drive and I'd be returning to Hollister for two or three days recuperation, MSM thought she'd return to Hollister, get some work done and wait for a call from the hospital. She got the call at ten.
"How are you feeling" asked the nurse.
"Good", I slurred.
"Fine", she said. "Now sit up on the gurney and pull on your pants. You can wait in the wheelchair for your ride."
"Ah", I thought. Up and out. I must have survived.
So I've been sore. Monday, the rest of the day, slightly more sore than when I'd been suffering from the hernia itself (a soreness that would come and go, often after a night's sleep). Tuesday, Wednesday and today I've been popping Vicodin to keep it in line. I have enough left to last through the weekend. Right now, late afternoon home in Oakland, I'm beginning to think it's improving. I'm tired and sore, but less sore, and I've got three whole long wonderful days left to recuperate. Life is good. Life is always good given the alternative.
I picked up two contact sheets around noon at Tony Molatore's new place across from Breads of India on Sacramento near Dwight in Berkeley. Tony wasn't in when I arrived, so I had lunch at Breads, saw him return through the open door as I finished an excellent meal, picked up the contact sheets, gave him two more exposed rolls of film to pick up tomorrow, went home and crashed. Listened to the news. Took a nap. Listened to more news. Took a nap. I'll take another nap and listen to the news again before I retire for the evening. This is good. This is recuperation. Here in Oakland.