Where is my watch?

As I grow older and experience more of life, the good and the not so good, my appreciation and admiration of my mother grow.  She graduated with her M.D. from the University of Illinois College of Medicine in 1943.  She was one of eight women in her class and, as Class Secretary, the only officer who wasn't a man.  She was Marie Anne Smith, called Ma Smith by her classmates.  She was a brilliant and driven pioneer. Ma Smith became Doctor Kelly when she married my father.  She was 38; he was 43.  She wanted children.  I don't know how much my father wanted us, but he went along with her plan.  My father's father committed suicide at a very young age, and although Papa (we had to call him Papa because he hated the sound of Daddy) was only 6 years old, he became the man of his little family.  Papa never wanted to talk about his life...it was horrific on many levels.  He took care of his mother, my Nana, until she died.  Nana was part of the deal when Doctor Kelly married my

Eighteen days ago I had surgery for osteoarthritis in my right hand.  The osteoarthritis was painful, but the surgery and recovery seem to be much worse.  The surgeon gave me a prescription for fifty-six pills of Oxycodone.  When we picked up the prescription, I said, "Fifty-six!!!!  This will last years!!!"  Ha,ha, WRONG!!!  My pills are just about gone; I feel compelled to add that the dosage was quite low and the instructions were to take 1 to 2 tablets every 4 to 6 hours for pain.  If you divide 56 pills by 18 days, you get 3.1 pills per day (just doing that math makes me want a pill).   The pain those first few days was rough; it would awaken me in the middle of the night.  I guess I am a wuss.  Worse, much worse, than the pain is the realization that I am pretty much helpless without my right hand...and I'm left-handed.  We don't think about all the everyday chores that require two hands.  For example, I have stopped wearing slacks that have zippers.  In a bat