O.K., So, I'm a card-carrying, bona fide Neurotic! I admit it !

[Guest guest]

I couldn't hyperventilate to get better from Achalasia: I'd just see stars, and, I already live near Hollywood, so, that would be redundant. O.K., so, here I am, worrying about pain and suffering, when I ought to be picking up those easy-to-carry disposable cameras so that I can take photos of the handsome doctors and, if I'm very lucky, that handsome anesthesiologist I had once before....sigh!...oh, what wavy hair and smokey star-lit eyes! hubba, hubba. (I've been single too long.) And, for those of you who have listened to me before, and now I am being serious, when I mentioned the passing of my ish Terrier, I now have an edge on a list for a new puppy to come live with me in February. Oh, joy! Oh, rapture! Think I'll sew a Thistle Pattern Quilt for the babe! That, and lay in some Haggis! Wonders never cease! Back to pain and suffering: listened

to Sellers doing his imitation of a "caste-ing" director from India singing his (Indian) versions of songs from My Fair Lady, such as, Get Me to the Taj Mahal on Time, and I laughed so hard, my sides hurt! A recording of this lunacy was played on KUSC radio during the Annual New Year's Sobriety Test. I passed. Hadn't been drinking, just laughing. Back to pain and more suffering: I am most accomplished at imagining the worst: my myotomy will start with my left kneecap, the anesthesiologist will put my right toe to sleep and then promptly sit on my left shin during the surgery, while singing Down in the Valley, and the nurse will have an argument with her mother on her cell phone while handling surgical steel and shots of adrenaline. Ralphe Fiennes will come in, looking for his ladylove (alas, not me, this time) and I will be looking the other way when he makes his appearance. On the heels of Ralphe's exit will

come Woody , suggesting reasons for my apparent Achalasia being based on way too much delicatessen food, too much chopped liver/pastrami/corned beef triple-decker sandwiches from my ill-gotten lunches at Linny's Deli in Beverly Hills when I was a mere 14-year-old diamond carrier, and he will be followed by Bacall, love her, telling everyone present, in that smokey voice of hers, that Elvis has left the building and that a my-ot-o-my is really meant to be pronounced as My Ought To Be, followed by a seven course meal menu at Spago's...whereupon everyone,except me, will flood out of the building, headed down Beverly Drive on the lunch hour. I, of course, will get a clear liquid diet, served by a Margaret Hamilton look-alike (you know, the witch from Oz). Pain and suffering, Beverly Hills' style. I should suffer! wishing you a great sandwich, swallow that one, Deborah, at the beach

[Guest guest]

Alas, the anethesiologist that Dr. Fuller uses is older -- while kind and very

skilled with

aspiration issues and hitting the vein, he is not in your dreams as yyou

describe. Hope he

doesn't lurk on this site -- don't want to hurt my chances if I have to have a

second

surgery!

Sigh...

Peggy, who really appreciated the fine work of her surgical team, no matter how

they

looked (I bet this is really Sandy in So Cal mascerading as Peggy so she won't

get in

trouble)

>

> I couldn't hyperventilate to get better from Achalasia: I'd just see stars,

and, I already

live near Hollywood, so, that would be redundant.

> O.K., so, here I am, worrying about pain and suffering, when I ought to be

picking up

those easy-to-carry disposable cameras so that I can take photos of the handsome

doctors and, if I'm very lucky, that handsome anesthesiologist I had once

before....sigh!...oh, what wavy hair and smokey star-lit eyes! hubba, hubba.

> (I've been single too long.)

>

> And, for those of you who have listened to me before, and now I am being

serious,

when I mentioned the passing of my ish Terrier, I now have an edge on a

list for a

new puppy to come live with me in February. Oh, joy! Oh, rapture! Think I'll

sew a Thistle

Pattern Quilt for the babe! That, and lay in some Haggis!

> Wonders never cease!

>

> Back to pain and suffering: listened to Sellers doing his imitation

of a " caste-ing "

director from India singing his (Indian) versions of songs from My Fair Lady,

such as, Get

Me to the Taj Mahal on Time, and I laughed so hard, my sides hurt! A recording

of this

lunacy was played on KUSC radio during the Annual New Year's Sobriety Test. I

passed.

Hadn't been drinking, just laughing.

>

> Back to pain and more suffering: I am most accomplished at imagining the

worst: my

myotomy will start with my left kneecap, the anesthesiologist will put my right

toe to sleep

and then promptly sit on my left shin during the surgery, while singing Down in

the Valley,

and the nurse will have an argument with her mother on her cell phone while

handling

surgical steel and shots of adrenaline. Ralphe Fiennes will come in, looking

for his

ladylove (alas, not me, this time) and I will be looking the other way when he

makes his

appearance. On the heels of Ralphe's exit will come Woody , suggesting

reasons for

my apparent Achalasia being based on way too much delicatessen food, too much

chopped liver/pastrami/corned beef triple-decker sandwiches from my ill-gotten

lunches

at Linny's Deli in Beverly Hills when I was a mere 14-year-old diamond carrier,

and he will

be followed by Bacall, love her, telling everyone present, in that

smokey voice of

hers, that Elvis has left the

> building and that a my-ot-o-my is really meant to be pronounced as My Ought

To Be,

followed by a seven course meal menu at Spago's...whereupon everyone,except me,

will

flood out of the building, headed down Beverly Drive on the lunch hour.

> I, of course, will get a clear liquid diet, served by a Margaret Hamilton

look-alike (you

know, the witch from Oz).

> Pain and suffering, Beverly Hills' style.

> I should suffer!

>

> wishing you a great

sandwich,

>

> swallow that one,

>

> Deborah, at the

beach

>