And It's Not a Tracing, But I Do Have a Diagnosis. I Was Right. Henry is Scheduled To Be Fixed.

I'm not supposed to laugh, but the doctor illustrated what actually occurred. My type of hernia is the result of a period of time when sex organs descend, leaving a weak area in which intestines sometimes pull through. She asked if I recently lost weight and I said I had, and she said this can weaken the area (which I thought was interesting). It didn't help that I moved during three snow storms, shoveled like a madman, and succeeded in the transition in a week.

The doctor was a runner, so she totally got the whole, "I need to get back in a pair of sneakers" thing. She did say that it would be six weeks after the procedure, but she might grant me permission to speed walk after the fourth week.

Now, the doctor did the drawing in pen, so I used Sharpie to darken the lines so I could send them to my mom and sisters. The Sharpie bled through, however, and I stained my desk. I had a moment of panic that it would be there permanently, but rubbing alcohol saved the day.

What I wasn't prepared for was the interruption while sitting at my desk with ice healing Henry. The door was shut except for a tiny crack and I had a guest! Lucky for me, everything was under the desk and I was leaning in such a way that nothing looked unordinary. I was statuesque, however, hoping I wouldn't move and embarrass us both. From now on, the door gets closed all the way.

Pam wondered if the doctor did a tracing and I replied, "No. The drawing looks like a single cow udder."

I wonder what the doctor thought, however, when I asked if I could keep her drawing. I did tell her I write daily and I needed the drawing for a scrapbook. She consented. But told me I'm not to lift anything over 10 pounds. How much does a beer or glass of wine weight? Exactly. I think I'm good.