My husband Tom is having surgery this morning -- arthroscopic and traditional -- to repair a large tear in his rotator cuff. The injury occurred while he was benchpressing. I keep telling him he should be thrilled to have a sports injury at 64. For some reason, he's not thrilled.
Men. They're so difficult.
Tom is not a religious man, but I'm guessing he'd appreciate any good thoughts you'd care to send out into the universe. You know. So his karma doesn't run over his dogma.
In honor of the operation -- which is supposed to take about 1.5 hours -- here's my only rotator cuff poem. You just never know when these things will come in handy ...
P.S. for those of you who don't know Tom. Yes, that's him. I am married to a Simpson's character.