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I grew up in a very loving family that believed in hugs and kisses. My mother's arms around me, or my dad's pats on the head or playful tickles always told me I was loved. My family was very demonstrative and I am very grateful that I grew up in that kind of environment.

I recently went to say goodbye to a dear friend and realized halfway through our hug that this was not something she did very often. It was not an uncomfortable experience, but it made me think long and hard about how lucky I am and how much she had probably missed in life. I am a hugger and proud of it.

I believe in the power of touch so devoutly. It transmits wordless messages that say so much. For example, people have been shaking hands to introduce themselves for eons. Have you ever heard someone comment about a handshake they just experienced? I have. The comments can range from "firm and genuine" to "wimpy and limp". A message from human to human was sent in a matter of seconds that conveyed a message that might ultimately affect a relationship. For me personally, when a man shakes my hand and then places his left hand over mine so that my hand is sheltered by both of his hands, it tells me that he probably protects the women in his life. I am always impressed and I have to be careful not to swoon. This, of course, is not the litmus test for judging character in a man as I am sure there is probably an ax murderer or two who shake women's hands in this manner, but I do consider this an indication of a gentleman most of the time.

There are so many times that touch has amazing meaning. When I was a kid, my mom would stroke my forehead to soothe me when I was sick in bed with tonsillitis. To this day, you could not convince me that it was not her tender touch that cured me instead of the penicillin.

I am pretty sure that when some of you realized that this article was about touching, that your first thoughts were not about how validated or reassured you feel when your boss pats you on the shoulder for a "job well done", but to the romantic or maybe erotic side of touch. I don't ever want to disappoint, so let's go there. The best first kiss I ever received was when the man looked into my eyes and drew me towards him by very gently caressing the sides of my face until my lips met his. It was gorgeous and is permanently tattooed in my memories. To my gentleman readers out there... you are welcome to use it, but you need to write me a thank you note.

The most electrifyingly sexy thing I ever saw in a movie was in The Age of Innocence. Ladies, if you haven't seen this exquisite period piece, please do. Guys, you should try to watch it with her because it is beautiful and your woman will be very impressed at your sensitivity and artful soul. Granted, it doesn't have any guns, breasts, monsters or car chases, but your lady will be in a very romantic and loving mood when all is said and done. Okay, back to the sexiest scene on film. Daniel-Day Lewis is engaged to Winona Ryder, but he and her married cousin, played by Michelle Pfieffer, have a secret forbidden "thing" for each other. In my favorite scene, All three are at a gathering and there is a receiving line or something where Daniel is sandwiched between his fiancé and his lover in the line. Now remember, this takes place in the late 19th century, so in order to be received, ladies and gentlemen had to remove their gloves to present themselves. As Daniel and Michelle waited their turns, they were able to touch each other's bare hand for a brief, but provocatively explosive second made even more thrilling because of the danger of the fiancé standing so close. Believe me when I tell you that this was more exciting and sexy to me than any totally nude romp could ever be. I'm telling you, touch is everything.

Do you know who REALLY understands the magic of touch? Dogs and cats. Petting their heads, scratching behind their ears and rubbing them from stem to stern are all pure heaven to them. The moment I wake up, my little Beau rolls over on his back for his morning belly rub. This is even BEFORE coffee, so you know how much I love this little guy.

So the next time a friend surprises you with an instantaneous shoulder rub, be grateful for the gift of human touch. If you are not a hugger, get over it. You are missing one of the best things life has to offer.

I think you know me well enough by now to know that I am a big believer in the theory that the most wonderful things in life cannot be bought. However, so there is no confusion, I still believe that people that say that money can't buy happiness don't know where to shop. I'm just saying...

True Love

I want to thank you all for saving me so much angst and a whole lot of money all these years. You allow me to write about whatever is on my mind and often times you help me get through some really tough stuff. Many of you take the time to write to me and give me your two cents. Your two cents are worth a million dollars to me.

Why did I choose today to thank you so profusely? I felt that I needed to let you know how much you, my loyal readers, give to me... and I really need you right now. I had the choice of faking some light-hearted piece of fluff that would have been painful to write or I could tell you why I am hurting, which would also be painful, but honest and genuine.

I think you all know by now that at LoveFifi.com, we bring our dogs to work. There are sometimes more dogs than people. There are dog beds in the warehouse where we pack your orders and in every office where we create the magic. The dogs wander around and nap wherever they please. We take company dog walks in the park next door and the 2 employees who don’t have dogs of their own often take “dog breaks” and spend some time playing and cuddling any one of the doggies. The environment here is amazing for all concerned.

Today I had to go and pick up the ashes of my beloved Babydoll. I had been dreading it for weeks and just could not bring myself to go and collect her remains. I did it today because I knew everyone was in the office and they would support me during the unveiling. I have been a mess for weeks. I miss her so much.

The last weeks have be very sad for me. Babydoll was a character. She was a true diva in every way. She had more clothes than I did. Although those who didn’t know her well thought of her as a prissy dog, she was actually a pretty tough soldier. Five years ago, she was attacked by huge muscular dog who was not on a leash. He tore her nearly in half and if it were not for the efforts of my brilliant veterinarian, she would have died. To this day, Dr. K says that she was the most injured dog he had ever saved. She was in the hospital for over a month and had several operations. She survived, but was really never the same.

The fact that she was persnickety was probably due to me. When I would take her on walks, she would put one paw on the grass and if it were wet, she would draw her paw back and look at me as to say “I don’t DO wet grass, thank you very much”. I always cooked her food. She enjoyed a diet of chicken and brown rice or lamb and cous cous. I warmed it up in the microwave and if I ever tried to save a little time by giving it to her room temperature, I would get this puzzled look and she would walk right into the kitchen and sit in front of the counter where the microwave was.

She always had a “poof” of long hair tied with a ribbon on the top of her head. She was a fashion icon in the dog world. She honestly loved wearing clothes and it worked well because she had a huge scar that went completely around her body. My friends and family delighted in buying her girly girl stuff that included lots of bling. Her collar was solid rhinestones.

A few years ago I adopted a little boy dog that I call Beau, who had been severely abused. He was and is very shy and the polar opposite of an alpha dog. That was Babydoll. She ruled the world. If I gave them each a bone, she would plot and conspire as to how she would steal Beau’s bone when he wasn’t looking. She wanted both bones and Beau always stepped aside for the Queen.

In November, Babydoll’s breathing became very labored. She had a collapsed trachea after the attack which became more and more of a problem as the years passed. She was on shots and meds for years to help her breathe. Her abdomen had ballooned to an enormous size and the vet said it was because she was taking in air trying to breathe. He kept her for 5 days and then called me in. He felt that it was time to start thinking about putting her down. I couldn’t bear the thought of not bringing her home for at least a little while. It really wasn’t for me, but for her. She had spent 5 days in a cement cell without her family and I knew I could medicate her and care for her and keep her comfortable. Because my vet has known me for over 25 years and because he is very attached to Babydoll, he agreed.

As soon as she got her home she was really happy. She slept a lot, ate well and continued to torture her brother, despite the fact that she had trouble keeping her balance and was weak. We got through Christmas and she continued to come to work with me. I watched her constantly to make sure she wasn’t gasping for breath or uncomfortable.

Towards the end of January, over a weekend, she didn’t want me out of her site. She just wanted to feel my touch and sleep next to me. I cut off her poof so I could pet her head gently as often as possible. I carried her around in a papoose–type dog carrier so she could be close to me. On January 25th, she stopped eating and drinking and I knew it was time. I called my vet at home and he met me at his office late at night. I held her while she went to heaven. I had arranged for her cremation and urn weeks before, so all that was left was to kiss Babydoll for the last time and hug my precious vet.

It took me a whole month to go and collect her urn, but I did it today. I brought it back to the office and my dear ones at work opened the box. I had her ashes put inside a rock that goes in the garden. It was the perfect place for her because she loved to bask in the sun on my patio like the movie star she was.

For those of you who are not animal lovers, you probably stopped reading this article paragraphs ago. For those of you who understand, I know you are feeling me right now. I am trying really hard to concentrate only on the joy and smiles she brought into my life. The sadness of her absence is heart-wrenching at times, but the change in Beau keeps me focused. He stopped eating for a few days when she didn’t come home, but after a while he realized that he was getting all my attention. He’s liking it big time.

If you have read this far, I thank you for sticking with me through this whole thing. I was not feeling funny today. For all of you out there who are pet owners, please give Rocky, or Sophie, or Bruiser an extra dose of love today in Babydoll’s memory. And thank you again for helping me get through a sad time by allowing me to write about it. I am grateful for every time she wagged her tail when I asked her, “Who is the cutest dog in the world?”. I never really minded it when I stepped on one of her squeaky toys in the dark and scared myself. I am thankful for all the help she gave me licking my ankles dry when I got out of the shower. It surely saved me lots of time in the morning. I cherish all the times she made me laugh at her antics and all the times she fell asleep in my arms.

When life is hard, I often find strength in the words of the great philosophers. Today is no exception.

“Don’t cry because it’s over... Smile because it happened.” - Ted Geisel (Dr. Seuss)

Love And War

Sometimes people write to me and ask if I am REAL and if I actually write these columns and answer your questions myself. I have to laugh. I can’t even get my kids do their chores without nagging them, so it is unlikely that I could talk someone into writing a column for me. Of course, I am REAL. And you would know just how real if you had been here yesterday.

I love getting letters from my readers. I feel like I am the luckiest girl in the world because I get to know you through your words, just as you get to know me though mine. In this crazy fast-paced world, where people conduct their whole lives on cell phones, eat over the sink so they do not to make dirty dishes and drive-thru everything from the bank to their house of worship, I am flattered when you take the time to email me. I keep every one of your letters, by the way, even that mean one from the guy in New Jersey who told me that leopard print is OUT and that I use too much of it on the site. He is wrong, of course, and I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. However, I am still not over the hurt of it all, but my therapist is helping me greatly.

Anyway, back to yesterday. I was going through this week’s reader mail, when I came upon a letter that took my breath away. With every word that I read, my heart thumped loudly and my eyes filled with tears. Incredible warmth came over my whole body. I just sat at my computer and cried. I cannot ever remember being so completely touched. I could tell you all about this fabulous letter, but better yet, why don’t I let you read it.

Hello Ms. Fifi,
I just had to write to tell you thank you for the wonderful lingerie you have sent. The quality is top notch, better in fact than many very expensive designer boutiques. I love the service I receive and have decided that I will entrust you with all my lingerie and delicates needs from now on. My husband is serving in the desert right now so I sent him your site address. He calls once every two weeks or so and one of the first things he says after I love you is "This is what I want you to get from Fifi's this time...” I get to shop and he gets to look forward to coming home to a whole new wardrobe of beautiful little things for me to model for him. I just had to write to tell you thank you. It is hard to miss him so much but now I'm not as depressed because I have a mission while he is gone. My mission is to transform my ordinary Army wife, middle aged self into a beautiful hottie, (for lack of a better modern term). Your lingerie makes me feel beautiful on the outside which makes me feel beautiful on the inside. My personality has changed from just having a ho-hum grin to having a beaming, brilliant smile. Every one has noticed and all I say is thank you and whisper "LOVE FIFI" to them and their wives. There will be a lot of happy soldiers coming home soon and thanks to you they will be returning to very beautiful wives and girlfriends.

Imagine getting to be part of some of the most passionate and intimate moments in people’s lives. We have learned from the many letters of gratitude we get from Military wives, husbands, girlfriends, boyfriends and lovers that the first time couples get to see each other after being apart for so many months and miles is even more spectacular than any wedding night hoped to be. They are celebrating their love, but more than that, they are celebrating keeping alive and returning safely to each others arms. My goose bumps have goose bumps.

I know that many of our troops have come home, but many more are still in places like Afghanistan. Saying “thank you for serving” sounds so inadequate. Thank you for risking your lives, living away from the people you love and giving up all your creature comforts seems much more appropriate.

To our military men and women and your spouses, we at LoveFifi.com are so totally honored to be a part of what keeps your dreams alive when you are forced to be apart. But even better than that, to be a part of your homecomings is over-the-moon wonderful. We are so touched and proud.

What's Love Got To Do With It?

Tina Turner asks a good question. Let’s talk about it.

Did you know that we are the only creatures who can laugh…and love? Even though you think your Schnauzer loves you, it’s not the same kind of love that humans experience.

With Valentine’s Day so close, I think we should really examine this LOVE thing. How do we KNOW when we are loved? It’s important to know it when it comes your way.

I was a bit spoiled in the love department when I was a little girl. My mom would do things for me like cut my sandwiches into shapes with cookie cutters so when it was time for lunch, I had a special surprise. She used to make pancakes on Sunday for the family and always made these little teensy weensy pancakes just for me. She called them “dolly” pancakes. And when I would run through the sprinklers in the summertime, she would greet me at the front door with towels right out of the dryer. These were all beautiful acts of love that mean so much to me. I often look up at heaven and thank my mommy for all the things she did to make me feel so special.

When I was 16, my boyfriend gave me his class ring. He was the first love of my life. I wore his big ring on a long chain around my neck so everyone at school would know that I was “TAKEN”. As cool as I looked, the dangling ring bopped me in the forehead every time I bent over. If it hadn’t been for my bangs, the world would have seen that I was too blond to remember to hold the necklace when I bent down. I only ever thought about doing that when the ring bonked me in the head. Love sometimes comes with a price to pay. He said “I love you” all the time, wrote me mushy notes and called me every night. I was sure that he truly loved me until some dumb butt spiked the punch at the Senior Prom and I threw up in the center console of his vintage Thunderbird. He never got over it and we broke up eventually. I seriously questioned boyfriend/girlfriend love for a long time after that.

When I was in college, my boyfriend never TOLD me he loved me. He was a starving student and worked two jobs. When I studied, he would change the LP’s on the stereo so I could concentrate. He stayed up with me many times and helped me cram for tests. I can honestly say that he loved me, but I didn’t appreciate it at the time. I broke up with him when I graduated and broke his heart. Peter, if you are out there, I am so sorry. You deserved better.

As most of you know, assistant is my sister. That makes her my assister, right? Sometimes I get so involved being Fifi that I can’t see straight. She will pop in the office and bring me a cut up piece of fruit or an 8 oz. glass of water. She used to bring me chocolate or chips but those made my butt grow. I still appreciate her sweet effort to please me. She is pretty busy herself, but always thinks of my needs. That’s real love.

Now that I am older I know that true love is not about just saying the words “I Love You” (but I DO still adore how they sound). Real love is not measured in gifts, or extravagances, although an occasional diamond never hurts to drive the point home. Love is better measured in things you do, like when I wake up in the morning to the smell of fresh coffee brewing. Now THAT is love.

So, Tina... what’s love got to do with it?

EVERYTHING

Until next time.

Queen of Hearts

Well, here it comes again… February 14th… the national day of love.

Women have built Valentines Day WAY up. If you could read the letters I get from readers who are fretting over every detail of Valentines Day or worse yet, are worried sick about being forgotten, you would be astounded. You would not believe the angst associated with being someone’s Valentine. And by the way, these letters are never from men. February 14th seems to mean a great deal to the ladies and puts many guys into a cold sweat.

For every man who embraces his role as Prince Charming for a day, there is a much larger number of guys who would sooner choose being audited by the I.R.S. than deal with Valentine’s Day.

So, what happened? I think (and it pains me to admit it) that women are responsible for adding so much stress to this otherwise innocent little holiday.

I recently read somewhere that a group of men were surveyed on questions relating to “amour” and a whopping 38% admitted that they had considered ending a relationship just before Valentine’s Day. That’s NOT good.

Since we girls got ourselves into this mess, it is up to us to set it all straight. It really is our fault. We are victims of our upbringing. Even when we were little girls, Valentine’s Day was a huge deal. Remember the classroom Valentine exchange? The more cards you got, the cooler you were. There was something so exciting about getting that special recognition and feeling the love.

Nothing has changed except that being someone’s Valentine costs considerably more when you’re a grown up.

Can we talk about this? Flowers, for example, are such an extravagance. They are beautiful, but can long-stemmed roses that cost the same as a weeks worth of groceries really bring a person happiness? Yes, if you are a florist!

Candy is nice, but many of us are trying hard to get our fat butts into a swimsuit this summer, so chocolate is not always appreciated.

Every girl dreams of jewelry from her man and every guy sweats bullets thinking abut selecting it. Wait until March and make these decisions together. It will be on sale by then, anyway.

Sexy lingerie, now you’re talking! It’s not because I sell it that I think it is the perfect “love” gift, it’s because I love it and I think it’s magical, that I make it my life’s work. It doesn’t die, it isn’t perishable and you can wear it on February 15th, May 23rd or whenever.

And what if you don’t have someone special to buy you lingerie this year? Well that’s ridiculous... because you DO have someone very special who thinks the world of you. It’s YOU, silly. So go buy yourself something frilly and fabulous, look in the mirror and say “I love you” to that gorgeous creature looking back at you. Don’t let this holiday get the best of you, girlfriend. Don’t forget, you are WOMAN, I can hear you roar!

Warmest Regards

Most every morning of my life begins with a big mug of freshly brewed coffee. I then curl up on the sofa with my dogs to watch the news. The top stories for days have been about the heavy snows throughout most of the country and the crazy unseasonably warm weather in California. I watch the footage of bundled up people trying to make paths to their homes and cars and can’t even imagine what that is like. I have friends and family who live in the Midwest and on the East Coast, and I know they are struggling just to get to work. It all makes me feel so guilty.

First of all, let me tell you that I am not happy about this heat wave. It has been high 70s to low 80s for 2 weeks now. I want my winter! When I say my winter, I mean the kind I have always known. Cool, crispy, sweater weather. I was born in Los Angeles and the only snow I ever saw was when my mom and dad would take us on a day trip to the mountains to build a snowman and throw snowballs at my siblings. I have always liked the winter months. I appreciate winter food, like soups and stews and hot chocolate. It is by no accident that I have never even rented an apartment that doesn’t have a fireplace and of course, I bought a home with a lovely hearth. I make a fire every night I am home from fall through winter. Unfortunately, I have to turn the air conditioning on at the same time in recent days.

It really plays with your mind and your time when the seasons don’t cooperate. Right after Thanksgiving I painstakingly put all my sexy sandals and blingy flip flops in storage to make room in my closet. Now it’s 80 degrees outside and I keep thinking it’s only temporary, so I am stuck wearing closed toe shoes until this damn weather figures itself out. I shouldn’t complain. I don’t have to shovel snow, or defrost my car door locks or do anything that most of the country is forced to do. Right now, I can sit out on my back patio with very little clothing on in January without being the slightest bit chilly. It may sound lovely if you live in Buffalo, but I get more than enough warm weather in the summer months. I have adorable wool hats and scarves just waiting to be worn and I am fearful that it may not happen. This ridiculous warm weather doesn’t seem to have an end.

I admire the pioneer spirit of all the folks who carry on their lives during snow storms. I traveled to the East Coast for business every 2 months for decades. I have had my fair share of trying to get around a snowy city to do business. I am no stranger to canceled flights and icy sidewalks. I remember my first experience with “black ice”. You don’t know it’s there until you step on it. It’s bad enough when it’s you, but when you watch elderly people doing bad James Brown impressions down Madison Avenue, it’s really sad. Although I am German, English and Scottish, I am just not built for snowstorms. The only blizzard I can deal with is the kind that comes from Dairy Queen. I am too much of a candy-butt to power through the snow on a daily basis.

All of you who treat it like part of life deserve all the rewards that come with it. I will never wake up to a white Christmas at home, or be able lay down in my yard and make a snow angel. I can’t cuddle up with my husband and watch the snowflakes fall while the fire roars. I actually don’t have a husband OR snow where I live, but it is far more likely that I will have a snowmobile in my driveway before I have the other.

When you don’t grow up in cold weather, you miss out on a lot. A few years ago, one of my dearest friends and I were had dinner in NYC. As we walked to his car so he could drive me back to my hotel, we kept going in circles until we realized that his car had been stolen. I saw him the next day after the theft, and the police had already found the car, stripped to the frame. The only thing he was upset about was that his favorite snow scraper was in the trunk and now it was gone. He went on and on about how this scraper was the best one ever with all the bells and whistles. So I set out to find him the most deluxe, amazing state-of–the-art-snow-thingy ever. Sounds simple, right? I walked into this giant hardware place and realized that I had no idea what one of these gadgets even looked like. I timidly asked a clerk where the snow scrapers were. He immediately asked me if I wanted one with a chisel or a snow brush. I said “yes” and pretended that I knew what he was talking about. I did have on a very stylish wool coat and killer cute faux-fur-topped boots, so I looked like I belonged. I went to the aisle he told me and I was more confused than ever. I finally had to bare my soul and confess that I was from LA and that I needed the Star Wars equivalent of a snow scraper for a very dear friend. After he got finished chuckling, I got a comprehensive lesson in the finest tools available to remove ice and snow from car windshields. I bought my friend the most spectacular combination ice chisel/snow brush with a telescoping handle in the most gorgeous shade of fluorescent orange. My friend was completely delighted and also very amused. I sang “Ice, Ice, Baby” and danced while he opened up the bag. Presentation is everything, you know.

I have always thought that there is something very romantic about snowy conditions. Ever since I saw Dr. Zhivago, I have been enamored with the thought of falling in love in bone-chilling weather. A hug has to be twice as delicious when two shivering bodies embrace and create mutual warmth. In the movies, when you see lovers toast with glasses of fine spirits on a cold night, you can feel the passion ignite as they sip and look into each other’s eyes. It just doesn’t happen that way on a warm California day in freakin’ JANUARY.

So, to all of you who are wishing you were in Southern California instead of say... Minnesota, stop wishing. It’s not so great. The flowers are confused. They think it’s April. The news even said that the bears are messed up and coming out of hibernation early because of this crazy warm weather. What’s worse, is that I am confused. Do I pack up my sweaters and Ugg boots? Do I reclaim my flip flop wardrobe from the garage? For now I will just send all my dear readers who are battling the elements bunches of love. Keep warm and know that I think you rock.

Standard Operating Procedure?

I want to thank all of you who sent me “Get Well” wishes and prayers. I am happy to report that it all worked beautifully. My surgical experience was successful physically, but my hospital stay—if you can call it that—was very perplexing.

It has been over 30 years since I last had a serious operation. Things have really changed a lot in surgeryland. My stay 3 decades ago was 4 or 5 days and I was treated like a princess. There were floral tributes and a procession of visitors to help me with the healing process. This last stay was 4 or 5 hours long and the only flowers and visitors I saw were ones coming in the front door as I was being wheeled out. Don’t get me wrong, I was well taken care of, medically speaking, but the whole process is way different now.

In all fairness, I understand about progress and the amazing strides that the medical community has made, but some things just shouldn’t go so fast. Granted, my two surgeries were very different, but the reality is that for both they knocked me out and cut me open. My recent procedure entailed removing a funky gallbladder (the name of my new band, by the way) and with the one so many years ago, they sent me home with an adorable daughter.

I arrived at the hospital on surgery day bright and early, with my sister and middle daughter in tow. They were there to support me and also protect the hospital staff. Since I couldn’t have anything to eat or drink after 12 a.m., which meant that I could not have even a drop of coffee. Can you spell HELL? I was not in the best mood.

We were sent to the second floor Surgery Waiting Room for further instructions. That’s where they would be picking me up and also where my daughter and sister would wait. As we opened the door, the scent of freshly brewed coffee hit my nostrils. Are they kidding? How mean! I knew it was for the benefit of the family members, but it still hurt. I didn’t have to endure the heavenly aroma for very long before someone called my name and took me to my surgical event. I must say that even though the staff was very nice, I still found them a little suspect. The same lady who called my name in the waiting area and then escorted me to my gurney, asked me my name and then wanted to know what I was having done. A little strange, I thought, since all my info was in their computer and my wristband clearly stated who I was. Though caffeine deprived and cranky, I went along with it obediently. I was then handed a paper hospital gown, a bag for my personal belongings and a pair of butt ugly socks with non-skid rubber stuff not only on the soles, but all over the tops as well. I could only deduce that the socks prevented me from escaping either by running or crawling. Let me jump ahead for a minute... when I was getting ready to leave the hospital, my sister and daughter wouldn’t let me leave the damn socks behind. They were both adamant that I would certainly have a use for harvest gold, stick-to–the–floor, mid-calf socks in my real life. I was too groggy to be insulted so I packed them up and smiled gratefully. I figured they probably cost me $250 anyway, so now they are mine.

OK, now comes the truly exciting part. The paper gown they gave me was amazing! Not your standard issue throw-away hospital gown, no sir-ee! This one had back ties, side ties, mysterious openings and flaps. It even had this curious thingy on the side that looked like the place where you hook up the bag to the vacuum. I returned to my gurney area only to be greeted by a new nurse, a man this time. Guess what he wanted to know... my name and the reason for my visit to the hospital. Don’t these people talk to each other or write anything down? I sweetly answered while he checked my wristband.

Then the fun began! They asked me if I wanted anything. “A non-fat latte with extra foam”, I replied. By then there were 2 more nurses and they all laughed. I told them I was cold and before I knew it, they had attached a hose that spits out hot air right into my gown! Do you remember the old fashioned bonnet hair dryer for home use? Same principle. As I laid there in my bouffant body bag, they put one pillow under my head and another under my legs. I was very happy and comfortable, but I was aware that I probably couldn’t look more hideous. I was wrong. At that very instant, someone put a poufy paper Martha Washington hat on my head. And then my adorable doctor arrived with a sweet reassuring tone of voice and a sweet smile on his face. I had every confidence in him until he asked me what my name was and what I was having done. Really?

Alright, I get it. This is some kind of safety measure so they don’t take the wrong organ out of the wrong person. Funny thing is, they seem to get the insurance “bill to” info and the co-pay collected on the first go-around.

My anesthesiologist was darling. We chatted for a brief moment as he inserted something into my IV. The next thing I remember is waking up in recovery. The attending nurse was very sweet and asked me if I would like something to eat or drink. I guess they lost my latte order, so we settled on Jell-O and graham crackers. Soon I was released, my sister and daughter showed up, and I was wheel-chaired out of there, gallbladder-less.

All and all , my surgery experience was easy and very efficient. However, I can’t help wondering what surgery will be like a few decades from now. When my sister had her gall bladder out 25 years ago, she spent nearly a week in the hospital. What will surgical procedures be like 25 years from now? Maybe drive-thru... who knows. Or perhaps the patient will just press their iPhone screen against the area to be treated. Maybe there’s already an app for that. My poor sister has a scar the size of tree branch down her belly and I have a 1” slit under my breasts and two little tiny ones on my torso. A big difference, let me tell you. The whole experience left me with a lot of questions, but none as burning as where can I get one of those body warmer machines and a good supply of those Jiffy Pop disposable gowns? Fabulous!