under the knife

I must have acid reflux or something. Lately, I mean, within the last couple months, I get hearburn from everything. I get heartburn from drinking water, from a piece of gum. It seems like the simple act of swallowing is enough. A couple times, I was even awaken from sleep by the crap. That’s bad, right? I sit at my desk and drink coffee while some burning acid-gasses from Hell sit right at the bottom of my throat. Those generic chewy stomach pills seem to work OK, but not for long enough… and I don’t mind the tropical fruitchalk flavor too much. But, I think the whole mess is merely a symptom of my being fat. You know, needing to lose weight and all. So, to the fire-demons living in my belly: I hate you.

Sitting in the hospital room with Sharaun. She’s all dressed for the knife, the requisite blue “gown” and the word “yes” in capital letters on her left knee, “no” on the right. Waking around 3:30am to get here at the appointed time has left me a little sleep-dazed, but I’m as awake as one can be under the circumstances. My plan was to bring the camera, to take some good action shots of her in the hospital… but I forgot. In a few hours she’ll be all done, with a fixed up knee and all. During those hours, I’m going to do my best to catch up on some work I have to do. I have a 75% review this afternoon for a presentation I’m working on, and right now I’d say my material is at about 10%. Not really, I guess, since I have all the material I’ll cull from… I just need to cut, paste, tweak, and assemble it. Still, I wish it was done… this place doesn’t “feel” like it’s gonna be that conducive to progress.

Last night she got a little freaked out (I’m back to talking about the surgery thing again, if you couldn’t tell – that work-talk was just a lengthy trip off-topic). She has this fear that she’s going to have a reaction to the anesthetic and die or something. Crazy enough, she got a text message on her cellphone yesterday that said “Hey baby, sleep with the angels.” It was obviously a wrong number or something, but the “sleep with angels” part sounded a little too much like an ominous foretelling of death to her. So, ‘round midnight the tears and the “I don’t wanna do its” came… but it was short-lived. Even as I sit here now watching them put her IV in she seems fine. That text message was weird tho, I’ll give her that… I mighta been a little freaked out too.

Well, just kissed Sharaun off into surgery… and I’m in the family waiting room. About an hour and a half, the doctor said. Netstumbler says there’s an access point here, although it’s not broadcasting an SSID… but I can’t seem to get on it. The signal/noise ratio is a little high… I must be too far away from the thing. Would’ve been nice to be able to check my e-mail or surf the web while I wait. As it is though, I’ve managed to make huge progress on the work I was complaining about just a paragraph or two above. My presentation is now something I won’t feel stupid presenting as 75% content, not bad for two hours work. I seem to have stalled though, as is evidenced by the fact that I’m writing this…

Well, an hour or so has passed between paragraphs. The surgeon just stopped in to tell me the whole thing went well. Following him into the room was another man outfitted in scrubs, face mask also hanging to his chest. Turns out it was a doctor from Japan who had come to observe Sharaun’s surgeon’s technique. Apparently, he’s virtually patented this particular kind of ACL repair, and spends lots of time (and I’m sure makes lots of money) teaching the procedure to others. Anyway, when he introduced me I remembered my Japanese-style greetings from previous experience with work greeted the doc with the appropriate “san” attached to his surname. He seemed a bit surprised, but it made me feel all cultured and stuff. Anyway, she’ll recoup for an hour or so before I can see her again… so back to work here.

Ahhh… back home. Later.

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