Rog has surgery today. I told him that if he sees a dark tunnel with a light at the end of it . . . run away! Run away! (I can't quit thinking about Mom's near death experience, which happened because of general anesthesia.) I admit it--I'm superstitious. I just figure that I can't have managed to get the absolutely best husband in the history of marriage and then expect to keep him for long. So knock on wood, cross my fingers, etc., etc., that this isn't his time and that I'll luck out yet again.
Don't worry--it's "routine" surgery (if having someone cut through your face to put a plate under your eyeball can be considered routine--what kind of world is this?) and we have the best surgeon in Utah doing it (Rog made sure of that). So we should be fine. I just feel so dang vulnerable when it's my guy on that table . . .