May 21, about 9:30 a.m. That dreaded consult with the anesthesiologist; I've always felt they hold an unfair advantage in any exchange of conversation, stealth assassins that they are, so when I realize this interview is not going so well, for reasons that are completely lost to me now, I think, "oh s#*t," and stop talking. Of all the people to be on less than favorable terms with......
My next memory, after a gentle (or not) remonstrance from my "caretaker" is waking up in the recovery room. The time was 11:20 a.m., if I read the clock correctly. (I've heard the most commonly asked question by those awakening from anesthesia is "What time is it?," and I try to avoid the cliche by finding out for myself.) The surgeon had left by then of course, but had spoken to the surviving members of my family. I saw him briefly later in the day. He asked how my knee was feeling; I said fine. It seems the time in the operating room was just about 2 hours.
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