Would Vegas Make Odds on This?

I had surgery today.  That Picc Line that had dangled from my arm for the last month and infiltrated my formerly enjoyable Football Dreams is gone and a Port-a-cath in my chest has taken its place.  For the record I had the Picc Line taken out on Tuesday (which lead to the founding of Raft City) but I didn't want to mention it here for fear of jinxing the Port-a-cath procedure. 

I had been warned that if it turned out the glands in my chest were still too swollen for the Port then I would have to go back to the Picc.  A doubly whammy of sorts - unsuccessful surgery plus another insertion of the infernal Picc Line.  As every Police Officer that has ever warned me in the past knows, warnings mean nothing to me.  I figured pull it and be damned.  I got to live a solid 48 hours like a regular, properly hygienic, person and not a cat in fear of the water.  Now we're back to sutures and dressings and having to avoid getting wet - but only for a day or so and not a whole damn month.  Once the stitches heal I can shower and go swimming and chase tennis balls again.

I realized something while laying on the gurney waiting to be wheeled into surgery - I am a bizarrely competitive person.  Once they had hooked me up to the EKG, the IV and all the rest I found myself laying there with nothing to do but stare at my monitors.  So I started competing with my body.  I began laying odds on myself, creating over/unders on my diastolic, systolic and beats per minute.  I got so competitive that I started cheering against my own heart as I somehow managed to bring my numbers down.  A nurse asked me if anything was wrong - I told her "Nothing's wrong, I'm winning."  She responded that she too thought Charlie Sheen was hysterical. 

That comment brought an end to my game.  Plus they pumped some kind of anesthesia into my veins and I began to get loopy.  Once I came to after surgery I tried to re-start the game with my body but I was too doped up to keep track of each previous set of numbers.  I do remember my lowest pre-surgery numbers.  112/62 and 68 bpm.  I thought that was pretty impressive considering the whole "white coat" symptom you're supposed to suffer from in those situations.  I challenge anyone to go have surgery (necessary or un-necessary, I don't care) and beat that.  Go on, I dare you.