My dear departed grandmother, a Democrat and political junkie to her very core, was in a coma during the final weeks of the 1960 election campaign. Upon awakening, her first words to my mother were: "Is that damned Eisenhower still president?"
Although I was knocked out for only an hour or so this morning and was quite sure that Eisenhower was not president, I did briefly wonder whether the political stars had been realigned when I awoke from a dose of general anesthesia. The Dear Friend & Conscience assured me that they had not.
Fortunate guy that I am, the last time I was knocked out (other than when I took a tree trunk full on at a sprint while chasing playmates at a birthday party) was when my tonsils and adenoids were yanked in 6th grade, which come to think of it was when Eisenhower was president.
But this time the post-operative pain is not in my throat but my left groin where the surgeon tucked an inguinal hernia back in and cosseted it with mesh made of Gore-Tex.
Not to worry. I'm okay.
Back in the day, operating for a hernia was a major deal -- intrusive surgery, lots of blood, even more pain and a lengthy period of recuperation that scared the bejeebers out of many older men (who are far more likely to develop hernias than women) and consequently put off going under the knife until things got really bad.
Nowadays they knock you out, make a small incision, install the mesh that will keep the abdominal wall where it should be, you're back home in three hours and back at the grindstone a couple of weeks later.
The cause of my hernia did not involve sword fighting or moving a grand piano into a walk-up apartment.
The DF&C, who happens to be a critical care nurse, suspects that the hernia, in my case a rupture in my abdominal wall, was a probable result of a wee stroke I had five and a half years ago.
Although I made a fairly complete recovery, I still favor my left side when lifting and so on. The area where the hernia sprouted is naturally prone to weakness and in time the intestine started to press into my inguinal canal, if you must know, and formed a bulge in my groin.
I abhor pain killers but am going to have to pop a Percocet or three for a couple of days until the discomfort subsides and my usual clear-headedness (sic) returns.
Until then, I'll just hab to burfnoggle gum plob glum ottle wattle ding dong . . .