I will surely starve tomorrow. It is 11:55 pm and I have only 5 minutes left to stuff my belly full of food to last me to the THING, the operation at 2pm. Cruel sadistic hard-to-understand nurse called me today to tell me “Di knot eath after telve oclock tonite, kay? Kay? You unnastan?“ Nurse Ratchid even took Chicken broth off the list, leaving me with black tea or coffee or apple juice. I mean, c'mon people - if we can invent Velcro, couldn't someone come up with an anesthesia that can be administered along with a chili dog and a Diet Coke? Ate FOUR (or was it FIVE) tacos for dinner in preparation for involuntary fast and am so gaseous and bloated, no doubt due to the liberal application of Tabasco sauce (the tequlia of my family – go figure) and uncontrollable, gluttonous shoveling of guacamole and chips into my piehole. I also had a beer, which I never drink and I’m starting to FEEL (if you know what I mean) where the term Beer Belly comes from. The bottom line is, in 14 hours I will have a surgeon (a good one, thank God) cutting a slit in my eyeball and removing an errant stitch left from a previous operation six years ago. This previous operation is such a loaded topic I’ll leave it for another entry, but suffice to say it was done by a true incompetent, a genuine moronic goon and caused unnecessary suffering for me, my husband, my then 2 year old daughter, and my unborn child, as I was six months pregnant when Dr. Lame did his dirty work. The lesson here is never, ever have eye surgery by a doctor that looks like a demented Doogie Howser, and ALWAYS ALWAYS seek a second opinion.