Wake up, Sandi, wake up.

I don't know how long the nurse had been asking me to wake up, but the very second her command registered with me, I knew exactly where I was. Hospital. Recovery room. I may have been on drugs, but my head stayed in the game. Did a fast survey and discovered there was no crater where my right breast had been. Good. The surgeon had stayed with the plan. Any minute now, we'd do a wheelie down the hall, they'd thrust that neat zippered bag in my hand and say "Get out. We need that bed." But first, maybe just a little nap.

I awoke a second time and stayed awake. Someone welcomed me back and asked if I had any pain. I mulled that for a second and realized, hey, actually no.

My friend Linn had come to the surgery waiting room earlier that day, ostensibly to keep Jeff company, but in reality her assignment was to listen to the surgeon's summation and make notes. Jeff, being a male and proud of it, would have one eye on the TV as the surgeon listed the salient points and the resultant feedback to me would have gone something like this: "Yeah, he said he removed something or put something in, not sure which, and that the sentry was a good soldier, and even though the hip bone is connected to the thigh bone, you're gonna die."

I was taken back to the room where Jeff and Linn were waiting for me and the actual surgeon's report, delivered by Linn, was that while the tumor was bigger than he thought it was going to be -- about the size of a small orange -- the surrounding tissue was clean, as were the sentinel lymph nodes. Yes!

I heard it and stored it. I can still remember her telling me that. But apparently I had selective memory, because I had no recollection of her telling me, in the very next breath, that she had run into someone we both knew in the surgery waiting room.

I was asked again, by another nurse, if I was in pain. No. Still not. And why not? Shouldn't I be? I had two incisions. Why didn't they hurt? Hello, drugs! Excellent. Someone suggested I take a pain pill anyway, just in case. I acquiesced. Why not. They're free (wrong). And the nurse, bless her, also asked if I'd like a snack. Why yes, yes I would. I'll have the filet mignon/bakedpotato/crispgreenbeans/pinotnoir/creme brulee snack package, thank you.

Evidently they were out of those. I got the graham cracker/diet coke kiddie combo. It was just right.

Can I go home now?