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Under the Knife
On Tuesday I'm to have an angiogram/cardiac catheterization. As far as I can gather -- me, the ever-courageous male an' all -- this involves ripping apart my groin with a chain saw and then jackhammering a probe about the size of a rolling pin up through my circulatory system, shredding soft tissue as it goes, until it can take a photograph of my heart. Pam says it's a tad less traumatic than this, but then it's not her groin. All this so my cardiologist has something he can post on Facebook.
I don't imagine I'll be merrily hopping astride a stolen Harley to get home from the hospital. Indeed, it may well be that I require a year or two of convalescence, not to mention extensive counselling; I plan to take plenty of books with me. Assuming I actually make it home on Tuesday -- as all these Other, Totally Unsympathetic People say I should -- well, I expect major-league tributes to my general all-fired heroism and traditional British pluck.
(Hm. The last time I had my groin ripped apart must have been the early '70s or so. But apparently my insurance company refuses to cover cold ravioli and live marmosets.)
(What I'm really, really hoping to be able to do is get to the book party whose details you can find at http://al-zorra.livejournal.com/305706.html.)
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"Not that I expect you to stop, er, milking the situation."
I knew there'd be a rude person who'd pick up on the terminology, and if I'd thought for about a picosecond longer I'd have guessed correctly who it would be . . .
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At least you haven't started in on the Harlay jokes, like other rude people!
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Hugs and evil grins,
Jean Marie