Well, first, I am glad your surgery went well (other than the anesthesia bit) and then, second, Happy Birthday!
When I was twelve, I lived in North Texas, where we had loads of ice every winter. I hate walking on ice. I left school and crossed the street to where my dad was waiting in his pickup. I was wearing cowboy boots, and the heel caught on a ridge of the ice, causing me to fall. My left foot went a different direction than the rest of me. My father did not believe I was hurt and made me get up and walk to his pickup.
We arrived home, me crying the whole time, and my calf was the size of a football and continuing to swell. My father realized I was hurt and began to call the three local hospitals to see which one had a particular surgeon. He then took me there, and they admitted me. After running x-rays, they found the tibia was broken and needed surgery because I had walked on it.
During my surgery, the anesthesia wore off and I woke up, hitting and kicking the surgical team. I have to tell that story to every anesthesiologist.
