A rainy morning in Hood River.

I would tell you how Richard’s first day of radiation went, but it is 5:30AM and it hasn’t happened yet. Remember, I’m psychotic, not psychic. They sound much the same, but two little letters can change a word’s meaning dramatically.

But I can give you some pertinent information about something near and dear to me: me.

I saw my surgeon yesterday and he took out my stitches.

He told me that he had been concerned the day he performed the procedure on my wrist, not only because I had festering wounds of the dimension and severity he had only seen while he was working in the tropics, but also because he knew when he prepared his technical paper on my condition that millions of medical textbooks worldwide would need to be recalled so the chapter on worst-case Carpal Tunnel could be updated. He mentioned that it would take me longer to recover than someone who had a mamby-pamby, sissified version of the condition.

(Okay, for those of you wanting a more reality-based update, he told me I can’t believe everything I read on the internet. I guess instant relief was an unrealistic expectation. I’m progressing well. He gave me a cute little smerf ball to use in physical therapy. Max and Spike are having the time of their life. Hopefully they will think to send a thank you card for their new toy. He did use the term “extremely severe” in reference to my Carpal Tunnel, and told me to come back in three weeks.)

And now Wednesday begins.