Vaguely . . .

So they put me out this morning with all kind of nice medicines that eliminated pain, nausea, consciousness, memory, and apparently all sense of decency.

For instance, I remember asking Dr. Foulk, "Is the sperm here?" as I was just about losing it, and him saying, "Well, I hope so, or you'll have to find some other guy's baby to have." I definitely remember not laughing. It's okay, Dr. Foulk is very funny and charming when I'm lucid.

Then, when they were moving me to the recovery room (I honestly don't know how they kept me standing all the way there), the very nice anesthesiologist said, "Here, I'll help you wrap up a little bit so you're not mooning the whole office." I responded in my barely awake state, "Oh, it's okay, I have a nice butt."

Yes. I told a man quite old enough to be my father or grandfather that I have a nice butt. And then he set me on a recliner, tucked me in with blankets and a hot pad, and brought in my mother-in-law. Or someone did all of those things. The whole incident is very fuzzy. In fact, most of today has been. Forgive me if I end up repeating myself to you. Or mooning you.