So, hours before the sun would rise, off we headed to the hospital. Scheduled as the first surgery of the day, you could hear a pin drop in a lobby where only one other family sat in addition to my sister and I. Naturally, I was a little fearful, but confident for a successful outcome. After two hours of pre-op procedures--and a doctor who was late thanks to that good ol' DMV traffic--I was finally under and whisked away. In what seemed like a flash (but was really four hours later), I groggily awoke in recovery to the doctor, nurses, and my sister standing around my bed with news: the surgery had ultimately gone well, but I had lost way too much blood in the process and not only would I need one blood transfusion, I'd need at least two. In other words, guess who wasn't going home that day? (On a lighter note, my sister did not forget about the pot roast and had to dash home to turn off the slow cooker, as not to burn down my house. And, yes, it was tasty when we finally got to eat it.)
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