Happy New Year.
Carol-Ann and I quietly kicked off 2011 in our tiny room at VGH. I had fallen asleep earlier in the evening, but woke up just in time to watch the Barenaked Ladies and Rick The Temp (I know he has a last name now, but he'll always be the Rick The Temp for me) ring in the New Year. Granted, it was a repeat from a Toronto show, but, at this stage, we'll take what we can get.
Carol-Ann was fast asleep at midnight, cute as can be.
I am recovering from a fourth surgery in a month, this time a clean-out Tuesday to get rid of the infection brought on by the surgery that inserted two rods and 15 screws to stabilize my spine. For those new to CTTWH, that heavy-metal operation (the docs keep talking about how I have "hardware," now) was brought on by the T-2 vertebrate disintegrating, which can likely be tied to 20 radiation sessions to combat a Solitary Plasmacytoma in that region.
We just had a doctor here from Infectious Diseases (it's not somebody from SWAT, but it's still pretty cool) and she figures that they've come up with the right antibiotic cocktail currently. That's exciting.
It would have been even more exciting if she rolled up in a hazard suit, but it was just regular folk clothes for her.
(She could have at least had a theme song, aomething to rival SWAT's Da, Da, Da-Da, Da or whatever it was. That would have been fun. In fact, we should all have a theme song. Life should be more like pro wrestling.)
I do feel spry and saucy.
With all this, my surgeon, Dr. Robert Lee, says that I might be here another month. I told him he's wrong. (My language to him was more colourful, but, hey, my mom reads the blog.) No way it will be that long.
Dr. Lee will get over being wrong.
And I'm sure he'll miss Carol-Ann and I when we are off to other places.