Megan (Dr. Gambos’ PA) removed the bandages Wednesday with a special flourish as she came down to my neck, where there now was a week’s beard under the adhesive. OUCH! She said I looked “good” and then did a little eye tracking exercise with me. Megan showed Nancy the ointment routine we would be doing for the next few weeks.

After a little bit of clean-up, Megan asked me to look in the mirror — with my eyes open. The right eye is pretty much swollen shut. She and Suzanne decided I was ready for Dr. Gombos.

Dr. Gombos asked how it felt to have the bandages off, and I replied, “good.” Then he also opinied that I looked “good”and asked if I was feeling any pain. I started with the sense of pressure I felt “all around” which I attributed to swelling. He retorted that I had hardly any swelling — much less than normal, but I did have a little more “droop” than normal.

After that rebuff, I debated internally whether to tell him about the stinging and itching I was feeling or about the shot I felt when I looked up during the eye tracking exercise. I told him about looking up. He said “uh huh.” So I went for the gusto and told him about the stinging and itching. He asked if I was still taking the Tylenol and codeine.

When I answered “no” to that one, he nodded and then answered,”That’s probably stitches. Over time, they will all dissolve and you’ll get over the pain.” He repeated some of the things that Megan and Suzanne had gone through earlier and asked the ladies if I had all the proper medications.

With an affirmative response, he intoned a wonderfully sweet phrase, “then I will see you in a month.” Gombos extended his hand, which I shook. Suzanne and Megan got hugs, and Nancy and I were headed toward the A Elevator.

There’s some follow-up to be done in Lubbock, ongoing treatments, convalescence and some adjusting I have to do. But we have closed the door on the operation part of this journey. We are now charting course for three ports on the follow-up leg of the voyage and looking forward to some shore leave at home.

While I still have this bandage covering more than half my face, the wobblies seem to be gone. This means that the primary limitation to my getting around is limited to having only one eye with uncorrected vision of something on the order of 20/400. There are also some pain issues that preclude quick movements. (If my grandson accosts me with his light saber, I will definitely have to rely on The Force to defend myself.)

Saturday night, we took advantage of this new freedom to walk down to Joe’s Italian Corner for dinner. This place is run by Joe himself and his family. Food is nicely prepared and well presented. Serving people dress the part, and Nancy thought they ought to be in classier surroundings. But then they would have to charge more.

We wanted to try Joe’s on the evening of Ike’s arrival, but the place was closed down. And they didn’t get power back in the first week after the storm. So Saturday night was a treat. The portions were ample, so we came home with an afternoon meal for Sunday.

It’s a glorious morning in Houston. Morning temperatures in the sixties. I’m waiting for a negative reaction to one of my medications (I should own stock in Walgreens?). If the reaction isn’t severe, we will walk over to Memorial Park.

Again, thank you all for your prayers, your thoughts, your expressions of care and love.

The news from Houston is mostly favorable — a successful surgery followed by consuming thirst and a healthy appetite and supper in the evening.

Earlier in the day, Dr. Gombos and team took a little longer than they expected, but they removed the eye without any rupture. That means the tumor was contained within the eye, the best case scenario for my situation. Pending confirmation from the pathology report, that means I should escape the need for radiation therapy.

The bad news is that the curse of Corvallis claimed the Trojans once again. Except for the third quarter, USC did not look like championship material Thursday night.

USC’s loss notwithstanding, I spent a reasonably comfortable night in “P8,” had a nice visit with Dr. Gombos on Friday, and have two appointments for next week. With luck, we should be able to spend most of the second week of recovery in Lubbock.

We reported early to surgery check-in, and shortly after our arrival, little Rachel, the 5-year-old with leukemia whom we met the day before arrived to check in for her bone marrow transplant. This time, Rachel had a sizeable retinue that included her parents, an elegant woman wearing a headshawl and angle-length dress (grandmother?) and two other children about her age. The three children walk-skipped into the waiting area hand-in-hand, smiling broad as a summer day, eyes all sparkles. Rachel had brought her own angels to the party, and there was enough joy to share with all the company.

Prep for the operation went smoothly. They found a vein on the backof my left hand on first try, and got the i.v. going. (Nancy discreetly turned the other way.) The last thing I remember is that she was heading out to do a few errands, and I had at least two attendants and an anesthesiologist.

Recovery is a fascinating place, if you just listen to all the things going on. There was an older woman in the partition next to me whose name was Hilda. As her daughter coaxed Hilda toward awareness, she threatened to “go get daddy,” and that seemed to do the trick. Hilda began answering all kinds of questions. Then there was this other fellow who had just had a brain tumor removed. He was a rather testy individual who used strong language in responding to those trying to bring him around. Nancy later observed “how far we’ve come” that someone fresh out of brain surgery could be “so responsive.”

Someone once said, “You can’t direct the wind, but you can adjust your sails.” It’s a great day for sailing and adjusting our course.