I had my presurgery testing this morning, along with a last consultation with the surgeon.
The testing went fine, and the surgeon went over the risks of the procedure, which he expects to last 2 1/2 to three hours, barring surprises. It could take longer. I'll be blissfully unaware, so it doesn't much matter.
The principal risk is that he will be working near some major blood vessels, including my aorta, but this was the case with my prior surgery in 2005. If he doesn't have a sneezing fit, I'll be fine.
He's a confident man, a little cocky, even. That's great. I don't want some milquetoast poking around under the hood. I want a man (or woman) who's going in to kick ass and take names. There's no room for tentativeness or uncertainty.
So, all systems are go.
I had planned on cleaning my apartment tonight, which is looking a bit like a science fair project. It's the very least I can do for the kind co-worker who is coming in to feed and water my cats while I'm away.
It'll get done.
Unfortunately, I have a computer combat flight simulator and I've been flying all over the World War II skies of Western Europe making the world safe for democracy in my British-made Hawker Tempest (the sweetest plane I've ever "flown").
The game's addictive, and it trumps dirty dishes and piles of laundry and papers every time.
I think if housecleaning could be made into a competitive activity (World War II Combat Cleaning Simulator, say) , my place would sparkle.
Saturday, I plan on making my usual foray into the East Village to get in one last burst of photo-taking before I'm laid up for a while. Sunday, I may do more of the same.
I feel no fear right now, and I'm looking at clear, blue skies.