J-E-L-L-O

I woke up in my room and the first person I saw was my wife. What a warm relief that was. She was smiling the brightest, warmest smile and things were instantly better. Words truly fail me. It was such a comfort to see her as soon as I came to.

We spoke for a bit and I talked to my folks. Though my mom did her best to hide it, I knew she'd been worried sick. I'm sure it was a relief for her to see that I'd not only made it through but had all my faculties. Had I been thinking, I would've yelled something in Spanish or in a made-up language, but the anaesthesia had the upper hand. The nurses came in to make sure I was okay and to get me started on what would be a night full of IV drips, injections and pills.

My head was bandaged up but I could see with both eyes. One of the first things I wanted to see was a hospital menu. It was mid-afternoon and I hadn't eaten since the night before. I was ravenous. I probably would have even eaten a slice of Sandra Lee's Kwanzaa Cake and asked for seconds. The nurse brought me a menu and suggested I take it easy since anaesthesia can make some people nauseous. I got spaghetti and meatballs and some red Jell-O.

The Jell-O arrived first. A lot of people make fun of Jell-O, saying it's strictly for honkies, Jell-O shots and after-funeral lunches. And they're right. But it's also pretty goddamn delicious when you haven't eaten in sixteen hours.

After that I talked briefly with one of our former customers from our bakery for a bit and just rested. I was happy to learn that I'd be getting a morphine drip. I, like most Americans, had heard great things about morphine and was looking forward to it and all of its wondrous narcotic properties. Sadly, all it did was dull the pain.

Which was surprisingly minimal. You'd think that getting your head cut open would make the top three on the Holy Shit That Hurts list, but I was more sore from the screws in the halo than the divot in my skull.

After the spaghetti (which also tasted as if Jesus Himself had made it) I rested and tried not to move too much so I wouldn't disturb the IV. My bed was almost supernaturally comfortable. Though the matress was thin, it had these pumps that'd continually adjust to support your body in whatever position you were in. I could also control the TV (I think -- morphine's a hell of a drug. At one point I'm sure I thought I could control Prince Charles and/or the weather in Peru) from my bed. It was pretty sweet. If it wasn't for the whole sickness/surgery thing, I'd get one for home.