I am home.

And I am safe and sound, unless you count the hordes of marauding cats who demand attention and petting rituals and walking all over your prone body as you attempt to sleep.

And I am high as a kite. Oxycodone does a number on your definition of reality. I’m not sure how it got there, but I found my cell phone in my bed, early this morning. Either Max was expecting an important call or the phone was cold and lonely, or perhaps both.

But the surgery was successful, or so they say. Technically speaking, I was there, but my notes are sketchy and I remember very little, but Dr. Aliabadi promised me it was a success. She even showed me pictures of the tumor and the adrenal gland. It was really ugly. Now I understand why it had to go. Unattractive growths like that have no place in my body.

Oh, and I have a five more scars. (I know that in my last post I reported “4”, but Oxycodone and math are not friends.) I haven’t seen them yet, as they are covered by bandages, but these are on my belly. Frankenstein, you got nothing on me!

I am glad to be home and glad that I have Karla here to help me with the trials of reality.

More late as I make it up!