Major Surgery

Does everyone have a remnant from their childhood that helped ease pain, worry or fear?

Mine was my "flanket." I don't have it anymore. I suppose it slowly disintegrated in the washing machine over the years, eventually becoming just slivers and remnants of its origins. The flanket went everywhere with me. I held it in my right hand, with my left thumb in my mouth. My right index finger rubbed my right ear so that my flanket whispered gently across my cheek.

Ali's was Ashley. She is a stuffed bunny that her brother gave her when she was small. Unlike my flanket, Ashley survived childhood. That is, until yesterday morning. . .until Samson got ahold of her. It was close, but I think we saved her. . .

I don't often get to think of myself as a surgeon but desperate times call for desperate measures.


The operating room; pre-op

I don't know much about podiatry, but the patient was comfortable as I attempted to reinsert the stuffing that Sammy had so neatly eviscerated. I did my best to close up the new flaps that I made from complimentary skin colored materials.


Working quickly, I texted the family of the patient and told her that the surgery was going well. I sent a picture message to confirm the progress. The response from the family member was, "Sweet Angel!" I asked if she meant me or Ashley. . .and the response was silence. I asked again, this time a bit more forcefully. (Hello??? Me? or Ashley??) The only response was "LOL." I contemplated ending surgery then and there, but my reputation as a surgeon was in the balance so I elected to continue.

On to the otoplasty. This was a bit more difficult and time consuming because I had to fashion new stuffing where the old was irreparable. Quick thinking on my part came up with a plan and we moved forward.


This was a bit more tricky but no less successful.


Another pic of the patient, this time post-op generated this response – "O baby! Some bunny loves me!!" Again, my response was, "Her? or Me??" and the reply this time was "both!"

Good answer. . .because I'm the one with the needle!

A couple of hours later I got a panicky text message from Ali who was home for lunch. There was this picture:


with a message that read "Parts of Ashley got left bhind!"

I responded, "Where was it? What is it?"

The answer? "Upstairs. Part of her soul!!!"

No. . .there's no drama at our house. . .Why do you ask?