After having quad bypass surgery and then a heart attack, I had a battery operated device installed in my upper chest. I am really a happy and positive person who has a tendency not to worry about things that haven’t happened yet. The morning I had to check into the hospital, I was in a particularly chipper mood. For those of you who have been through the drill, first the nurse came in to prep me by inserting the IV, giving me the drafty hospital gown and checking on my history. Next, I met the anesthesiologist who says I shouldn’t worry about anything; she’ll monitor you and keep you alive. Finally the doctor came in, shook my hand and gives me reassurances. By the time the doctor came by I was ready to get this show on the road. I asked the doctor if, since he was slashing my chest open anyway, he could throw in a couple of pectoral implants (he said no). I knew after surgery I would be in the recovery. and I’ve known recovery room personnel who have told me that it’s not unusual for staff to lift the covers of unconscious patients and check out the goods. Believing that story, my preparation for a hospital stay always included packing and wearing really fun boxers. I always wanted to make sure I gave peepers a smile. While I was on a gurney on my way to surgery, I suddenly realized that being over 60, it was unlikely I would attract staff that wanted to check me out beneath my sheets. I was disappointing to realize no one would see the fun boxers I had brought for this hospital stay. As they rolled me in for surgery and the participants were bustling around, I jump off the operating table and pulled up my gown. I told the folks in the operating room I had worn my boxers to me seen and now felt my goal was reached. I jumped back on the table, settled in and said I was ready. The anesthesiologist told the doctor “I haven’t even started the drip yet”. That’s about the last thing I remembered. When I woke up back I looked at where the surgery occurred. Although the doctor told me that the device would be visible under the skin because I was thin. I had no idea HOW visible it would be. It was like having a third pec. I told Ed it would be embarrassing to go to swim parties with that big lump on my chest. I suggested the most obvious solution would be to have a nipple tattooed on the the skin covering the device. That way, I wouldn’t be the freak with the lump on his chest, I would be the celebrity with three nipples.