When I described the surgery to my daughter she said "So they're going to slice you up like prosciutto?"
Except I was awake throughout and ham is normally, you know, dead.
Have you ever had surgery served up in courses, with intermissions in which you sit around with an open wound, waiting for the lab to say if the entire tumour has been removed? And if it hasn't, you get to go back under the knife, again, then wait for the lab results, again, repeat? For hours, and hours, and hours?
I don't recommend the experience. Though the nurses were charming and of course, here in jolly ye olde England I'm allowed to keep my shoes on. They may have proved that germ theory is real, but they don't let pesky little things like hand-washing interfere with their daily pursuits.
Post-operative recovery room, British style. Everything is better with a cuppa: