Hastane'ndeyim.

Night before last, I awoke from a sound sleep to the sensatation that a rabid honey badger was attempting to liberate itself from my bowels. Thinking that I was, perhaps, um, unable to drop the kids off at the pool, I awaited the sweet relief of a gut-busting dump.

A cherry-flavored magnesium laxative frappe, a cup of joe and five hours later: nada.

An hour and a half at the "Prompt"care -itself filled to the gills with the most unspeakable creatures, like the vaguely humanoid "baby" who shrieked like he was being impaled with a sewing needle until his mother surrendered a pallid teat for his awaiting maw- I was referred to a little Greek surgeon across town. By now, I was fairly sure that my insides were acutally going to burst into greasy flame, and, after Dr. Hellas poked me one final time, he told me to head on over to the hospital.

For my emergency appendectomy.

So here I am, sans a vestigal organ, a ten-inch stapled scar across my belly, wearing nothing but a backless gown and a smile. The surgery went well, but I'm still hurting quite a bit - but it isn't something that my personal morphine drip won't solve.

So yes, this is my first - and, hopefully last - hospital 'blog.

Until my staples get removed, I remain,

Domonic (yayforunneededorgans) Potorti