Disclaimer: I am on at least two painkillers and only using one hand to type. I’m not sure why Joey is letting me do this, but I think he is distracted by Hebrew. must.type.fast.ish.

Joey checked me into the surgery joint at 11:45. Right on time. They made me put on an unfashionable robe that had probably been worn by 100 other people; I chose not to think about this. Also they gave me size XL socks. I tried not to be offended, but now I have a complex that my feet are fat.

Long story short, despite my valiant efforts at not embarrassing myself, after they gave me the sleepy meds and rolled me to the operating room, I went on and on about how it looked exactly like a giant spaceship.

This is the last thing I remember.

Joey, unfortunately, missed out on all the insane remarks I made in Recovery because I had sent him to Freebirds. He did take his lovely picture of me which he sent to many of my family members’ phones.

Lovely, ain’t I?

I tried to take a nap once we got home, but that was too boring. (I tried for a whole hour; I think I gave it a fair go.) So I snuck into the kitchen to bake cookies while Joey studied.

He heard me.

“WHAT are you doing?” He asked me. I had my bandaged arm in the air and was measuring flour with my right hand.

“I want cookies.”

“I will buy you cookies,” Joey said.

“I want to make them,” I replied, and dumped the flour in the bowl. “I won’t hurt myself. They were talking about cookies before they gave me anesthesia, and I was thinking about recipes while I waited and now I need to make these cookies.”

I’m not sure I was entirely lucid during this process. I’m actually not certain I’m lucid now. Anyways.

Within thirty minutes the cookies were in the oven, the kitchen was cleaned up and I was sitting on the couch again. I did it all one-handed. Because I am awesome baker-woman.

“I feel great,” I told Joey.

Then, suddenly, I started not feeling so great. Like, my hand started hurting. Not bad, just enough to be annoying. So I stayed home while he went to youth group and I tried to watch A Mighty Heart. I kept almost falling asleep.

Joey’s on to me, so I better quit typing this and go to bed. But I wanted to show you my lovely foam thingy, officially named Carter – by the doctor even, that I am supposed to keep my hand in so it stays extremely elevated until next Friday. HAHAHA. As in Friday the 19th. I figure it’ll last until, oh, tomorrow. I’m not hauling Carter around ever where I go, the thing looks like a giant foam soda machine. (Although that could be the drugs talking.)

The dude who invented Carter is only like 50 and he retired early from making so much money off of the thing. I know this because my doctor told me. (At least I think he told me. I could have made that up.)

Observe Carter, my fashionable gray foam piece of awesome:

The thing is seriously gargantuan. And no, I’m not wearing any makeup in this next picture. No laughing.

Silence. I kill you.