It is my freshman year of college, my last year of eligibility to play in my favorite recreational basketball league. This is a unique league where roughhousing is encouraged and where referees would much rather be chowing down on Captain D’s rather than officiating the match.

One particular referee is especially blind to a few foul-worthy antics since I turned him down on his offer of a dinner date. In his sightlessness, a tall, muscular and mean gal on the green team proceeds to force the basketball towards my nose causing blood to spew all over the court. Needless to say, I had to forfeit my playing position for the remainder of the game.

I have become accustomed to this kind of contact and the nurses at our local hospital know me by name since I have had three concussions and a previous nose break. The x-rays reveal that my nose is, indeed, fractured and that surgery will be necessary to mend my ailment. The surgery is not urgent, but it must be done eventually, particularly at a time when university is not in session.

So, after months of struggled breathing and sleepless nights with chronic dry mouth, I finally have time to schedule in my surgery before the conclusion of summer.

This is my recovery story.

Surgery may not seem like the most fabulous time. I would not dare compare it to a week in Paris, but it certainly beats a stay at the Econo Lodge in Pigeon Forge.

First of all, your doctor gives you this incredibly strong medication to ease the pain. I know, I know, I sound like a drug addict, but the branch of morphine my surgeon prescribed is comparable to Nirvana.

Second, your family dotes on you like you are on your deathbed. They grant you gifts as if they had the magical powers of a genie. Among my presents were roses, gladiolas and one inflated Chewbacca balloon.

Third, you can eat all of the (easy-to-swallow) cuisine and treats your stomach can handle. Ben and Jerry and I have reunited and have spent many a spoonful bonding and catching up on lost time. My dear mother has even attempted to cook me something other than instant mash potatoes or a frozen pizza in order to appease my demands.

This recovery week has been Phenergan filled and "Four Weddings" directed.

And the best part is I have my post-operation visit in three days where my super-hot surgeon of the Asian persuasion will remove the stints from my nasal passages. I am considering a spray tan, as I believe it will distract from my extreme bruising and impress the doc.

Any thoughts or comments that failed to make sense or were offensive in this article can be blamed on the morphine. That is all.