One of my college roommates, Trish, for whatever reason, determined to call my knees gladiolas.  Somehow it stuck in my head as randomly strange word related things do.  So 20+ years later, I still think of my gladiolas.

Yesterday my orthopedic surgeon, who usually reminds me of Vizzini from The Princess Bride, sliced into my right knee, cleaned out the resident arthritis, and did something to my frayed meniscus.  He indicated things were better than he anticipated and that the surgery went well.  At least, that’s what I heard through the care grapevine.  Being maxed out on anesthesia and painkillers, not much reached my ears.  I slept most of yesterday, and will probably do the same today.  I’m looking forward to getting some more painkillers in me AFTER I get something to eat.

Last night I tried the painkillers first—my gladiola was quite demanding.  However, my stomach and knee weren’t communicating well.  The stomach then won the contest of wills.  Food first, then meds makes for a much neater and less disgusting scenario.

photo courtesy of Cory Dalus