Well, my roto rooter procedure is over. Any budding problems have been trimmed away. It wasn't bad at all. They presented me with 10 lovely photos of my colon, which I told the nurse I would post next to famous celebrity photos to match up: Can You Guess Which colon belongs to which Star?!!!
Look for it.
I'm going to attempt to make up for lost sleep last night and now that I've had breakfast, I hope not to dream of blts and milk shakes. Actually, during the procedure, I was dreaming of lime green growing things, that bright spring color that is so hopeful.
I survived last night by being deeply engaged by a book: Joseph Anton, the memoir by Salman Rushdie. It's beyond good, it's just a terrific read, fascinating, informative and gives great background on his conceiving of his novels. He's very honest, yet very likeable, as well as what I already knew; he's brilliant. So the book rescued me from my physical discomforts, and how often, in my case, that has happened. Book as rescuer. Reading as lifesaving. Magic as the antidote to a heavy dose of realism.
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