The last thing I remember was being wheeled into the operating room. I had been asked to answer the following questions on eight different occasions that morning in the hospital: What is your name, your birthdate, and what procedure are you having today?
My left hip and left foot were marked with a Sharpie Marker. All of this advanced technology was to alleviate mistakes, something like accidentally getting a lobotomy instead of a total hip replacement. Comforting, this modern medical science. 
I awoke to numbness, a loving wife, my legs strapped to a foam wedge placed between my thighs (to keep my new ball joint at the proper angle, I guess), and a morphine drip. I was told that the operation was a success and my hip that had been replaced was “in bad shape.” Well, I could have told them that.
I was also told I could hit my morphine drip plunger every 8 minutes, if needed. I knew from past experience my brain is very good at calculating life in 8 minute intervals and issuing urgent commands to the right thumb to plunge away.
I was done. The nastiness was done. I had a 12-inch gash on my butt sealed with a row of 33 pretty surgical staples. Now came the really hard part– avoiding the catheter.
4 responses to “Living in 8 Minute Intervals (Pt. 3)”
Patrick,
Thanks for the update, it’s great to hear the operation was successful.
It’s very possible you’re still “whacked out on the goof” which may very well have some influence on your choice of subject matter. A word of caution: matters relating to your personal body functions may see very interesting to you, but might not appeal to your audience. Or, it could be some of your best work.
To infinity and beyond!
Thanks for the wise words, Bill.
While I realize personal body functions and trauma may not be everyone’s cup o’ tea, the purpose of The Lint Screen is a stew of ideas and expressions, such as they are. I suspect they will be of interest to some sliver of the reading public.
Hope you’ll keep reading and mind those hips!
I was OK with the pain, suffering, trauma, mechanical body parts, drugs and foam wedges. It was the images of butts and catheters that had me uneasy. I’m over it now.
Keep on pressing the plunger!
Truth hurts and pain reveals truth. I’m getting a headache just thinking about that sentence.