I am nervous as a starving varroa mite staring down a pesticide can nozzle. The next of my beloved's surgeries is on Wednesday. Another round of swimming in the Alphabet Soup of the medical complexes. Can I bring my bee suit? My smoker to calm the bees defending their hives? Maybe the billy goat who is defending the pasture our outyard sits in? At least my support dog?

Sigh. I fit into a medical setting about as well as most med pros fit into my apiary. Still... Love can incite folks to do the damndest things... As hard as it is for me to ingest all that bustle and antiseptic, there goeth my beloved... There ye shall find me, however much I might prefer to hide my head in a honey comb.

Like the last time, Jan 15, the plan is to drop him off at an outpatient clinic and pick him up after he has had time to recover from the anesthetic. After what actually happened to that plan... Apologies to those who don't know that background info. Not in the mood to retell it just now.

Just processing... Deep breaths... OH-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-m-m-m-m-m...