Last Friday, little robotic instruments nibbled their way through my abdomen, giving light, snipping and cauterizing while the physician manipulated them with 3D visual accuracy. Four puncture wounds and a couple of hours of highly skilled work later and all was done. Except for the healing. Yes, except for that one little fact: it still hurts and I must be careful. It would be easy to undo all that expert precision by a precipitous return to work—or to garden. Apparently, my husband informed my physician of my weed-pulling habits because she made a point of telling me, “Under no circumstances …![]()
