I tell you, folks, I've got doctors circling over me like vultures with privacy waivers. All. Day. Long.
It seems federal law says these guys can't write the medical journals or call CNN until I say they can. There are already a few local reporters sniffing around: loose lips in the nurses' station, apparently. A guy leaned in around the door frame this afternoon and took a photo. The flash felt like a worm burrowing into my brain. Not pleasant. PePe called security.
There might be money to be made here. The anesthesiologist who did my surgery stopped by: his brother owns the local M. Benz dealership. Says he can hook me up with a C-class if I sign on the dotted line. Guy's got a direct line to The Today Show, says we can both get a Matt Lauer interview out of this.
Thing is, I want a piece of Katie Couric, and she doesn't do the morning talk anymore. Lauer's a dork.
I don't think I can keep the lid on this much longer. There's a media brouhaha in the wings, people. I'd just like to have another couple days' recuperation, before it breaks. I want to be in a position to put my best foot forward.
Happy New Year, everyone. Can't believe another year has come and gone. Can't believe either that I'll be stuck in front of the TV watching frickin' Carson Daly tonight. And eating green Jell-O. Not exactly the kind of upscale hellraising I'd envisioned a week ago, but sail-a-vee . . .