The Professor had his surgery yesterday. One plate and seven screws later, his heel is good as new. Not really. But it sounds good, eh? The important thing is that the surgery went well.

He was supposed to come home today, but the pain was so out of control that they decided to keep him another day. They started him on morphine (we told them that the morphine did nothing for him when he was in the hospital last week) and then switched him over to something else that was equally ineffective. At one point the pain was so intense that he was hyperventilating. Maybe because it took the nurse 45 minutes to get into his room after he rang them? I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure that might have something to do with it. That was early this morning as I was on my way back in to the hospital when he called me breathing heavy. I thought maybe he was wanting to have phone sex or something, but ... no. Not really, I could tell right away he was in some serious pain. So I started my day pissed off at the hospital and my anger didn't get much better as the day progressed. My attitude got so bad at one point that in the span of ten minutes I received a nervous nurse, the doctor's receptionist's total disdain, and a very unromantic proposal for marriage. The nurse was only nervous because I was pissed off and calling the doctor's office. The marriage proposal was because I lied to the doctor's receptionist and said I was The Professor's wife and they totally called me out on it. So you know, it was a pity proposal. From a man full of narcotics. I don't want a proposal. But if I did? That wouldn't be the story I'd want to tell. So you see, Grandpa proposed to Grandma because the HIPAA laws were so tough back in the day. A man's girlfriend got no respect.

By the time I left, he was in much better shape and even sleeping off and on. I'll be happy to get him out of that hospital tomorrow. Back home where we can argue about the laws that govern our life here.

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