It's nine-thirty at night. By nine-thirty tomorrow morning, I should be out of surgery - groggy, possibly with a mouthful of gauze (depending on a) whether the surgery is successful, which I'm guessing is about 50% likely, and b) whether it was done with the minimally intrusive 'flapless' method, which I'm now thinking he might not use, since the few articles I've glanced at mention having a 'computer template' to guide the surgeon, and I don't think he has the technology for that, yet). I am not anticipating the gushing crimson flow of last time, which, my wife told me later, freaked her right out.
So, worst case, nothing will happen. He won't do the implant. Medium case, he'll do what he planned to do. Best case, he'll do it and there won't be much exsanguination. So, any way you look at it, I ought not to be apprehensive about the outcome -- it'll either be what I want (implant bases installed) or it'll be what I'm doing now (using a denture, not an implant). I therefore ought not to be apprehensive. Didn't I just say that?
I need to work on my Jedi mind control. Or my Bene Gesserit skills.
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