Nick walked in from the garage last night holding two bottles of Leinenkugel's Honey Weiss and all but shoved one in my hand as he sat next to me on the couch. He opened his quickly and took a drink...I dawdled over opening mine, setting it aside instead. I didn't really want it.

But he had difficult news to share and with his drink a good deal consumed, I found myself opening mine and looking for relief from the literal and figurative pains in my rear. Nick rubbed my back in comfort as we drank. I set my bottle down at length and he, his.

We leaned in, kissing, and maybe 30 to 45 seconds in, I started to feel the beer-laced air in my throat. Terribly unladylike, I know. With seconds to spare, Nick quit the affectionate embrace to turn his head away. I did the same and we both burped before returning to each other's lips...seamlessly, without thought. We stopped then, looking at each other close-range, and all at once the indelicacy of the matter hit home. We laughed at the tasteless humor of the situation and kissed anyway. Ah! So glad those boring first impressions are over with! Now we can REALLY live!

So, a neurologist, a gastroenterologist, and the chief of surgical services walk into the operating room, creating a task force so impressive that my chart passed nary a hand without comment. Three of the best, they gave me—or, rather, three of the best wanted to get their hands on my butt rare disorder.

The three of them are standing there for much seems to be at stake—bladder/bowel control, use of my limbs...minor stuff. Meanwhile, I'm on my belly receiving the general anesthesia that would later give me a most annoying case of hiccups and a face I mistook for a marshmallow the next morning.

"The surgery could last as long as five hours, minimum two-and-a-half," the second anesthesiologist told me as she taped the needled tube to my forearm and began my saline flush. I rolled my eyes as I told her that I caught an episode of Real World not too long ago and this chick was FREAKING OUT over an IV. The anesthesiologist had seen the episode and went off on drama queens that create this fear of medical facilities. Seriously, folks: if you go to the hospital and the worst part is the IV, you got off easy.

My surgery time was delayed by an hour at least, and I am amused that my memory of surgical procedures dims somewhere on the gurney-ride to the operating room. I reawakened shivering in the recovery area and some nurse tells me I am going home that night. I thought it rather cruel of her to taunt me like that, as my doctor had told me earlier that day that the hospital stay could be as long as seven days. Real funny, Nurse Meanie-Head...ha-ha.

But to get back to my opening (no pun intended)...

A neurologist, a gastroenterologist, and the chief of surgical services walk into the operating room and decide that the surgery, my recovery, and my outlook will be much less severe than predicted. Forty-five minutes on the table and I left with a handful of outer stitches (ran into difficulties counting the inner ones), my tumor intact, and my infection removed. By knife-point.

Surprises all around...good luck...for me?

I think 2007 is shaping up rather well, don't you? I see my surgeon on Tuesday, the chief of surgical services if you will...and will hopefully wrap my head around this all much better...but for now I'm going to focus on recuperation, a healthy outlook, and avoiding contact with my backside...until later my friends, hugs and kisses all around!

Surgery. Tomorrow. That sneaked up on me. I had a post up earlier today...it had about an hour of air time before I took it down and decided it wasn't exactly what I want to say. Fear does funny things to you and makes funny thoughts come to the surface.

I've had the weirdest sensations today. I catch myself saying goodbye to my favorite blanket, brushing my fingertips over my lotions and perfumes, and looking back one last time as I step from the shower. And Nick...I'm going to miss my routine with Nick...I'm going to miss home. I've never missed home like that before. To the great disappointment of my parents who missed me, even college was no big deal. And, not to point out the obvious, but I had no qualms relocating 1200 miles when the opportunity arose. Not to say that I did not LOVE my childhood home, because I did. I also had no problem leaving my home in North Carolina for extended visits here. I don't feel like dissecting why that was just now.

But I seem to be happy here, truly happy at the core...and I don't want to leave, even if only for a week. I don't know, maybe I just don't like where I'm going...but then, my mother loved hospitals, just loved being admitted. I'm dreading my stay...I miss home already.

Two of our friends belong to our gym—or, rather, we joined their gym last October. For the first time EVER, our presence there collided last night...and as Nick was finishing his run, he took note of Kara's interest in People, having grabbed several issues from the gym's collection. I have a subscription, obtained in large part so that we might have a crack at an easy crossword every week. It's a pricey little crossword, no?

So, we're pulling on our sweatshirts, readying for our exit into the cool night, when Nick suggests from the corner of his mouth that we ought to start saving our People magazines. I like to share and all, but my first instinct was to pout, "Can we still do the crosswords?"

He replied, "Yes, we can still do the crosswords. But we have to finish each one completely. Cheat if we have to." Suddenly, our meager attempts at trivia have an audience.

I went to the Badgers Basketball game yesterday...it's become a thrill whenever I get the chance to see them play. Nick stuffed me like Thanksgiving's turkey at brunch today because starting at 12:00 central time, i.e., one hour ago, I'm on a clear liquids only diet...actually, I like to call it the Gatorade diet. Seems specialer. We sat at our table longer than necessary so that I could see our waitress' New Balance shoes (Nick promised I'd like them, and I did) and also because I was SO full that I needed some time before attempting to walk.

We mused over yesterday, and I began to chuckle as I began, "Boy, a year ago yesterday, I never would have been excited to go to a basketball game..."

Nick picked up and we played verbal leap frog in the retelling, "...fidgeting in the first five minutes because the Badgers weren't winning..."

"Sitting in a bar before-hand..."

"...drinking beer!"

"With three men..."

"...discussing SPORTS!"

Nick paused, smirked, and finished erroneously, "And then asking Jeff afterwards who number nineteen was...'I knew everybody else,'" he mimicked.

I shook my head. "It was number twenty-one."

Damn.