So here is a brief, albeit juicy, update. This one is full of nose juice, people.
I have been emailing with the doctor--whose name shows up in my Gmail as "hung hung"--about the possibilities for the procedure. He claims that it is a just a small operation, and that I will be able to take myself home following the surgery:
You see, my friends? This is a reputable establishment. It's not one of those hospitals that kicks you out to the curb after the operation is done and the money is collected. If I need to rest, I can rest at the clinic before I leave! No post-op rehabilitation in the gutter outside of the clinic for this guy! We're going high-class! I've got a brand new Benz that I ain't even drove yet!
Also, Dr. hung hung suggested a date for the operation:
Hmm, I don't know...what about Saturday 13st April? Actually, Decembruary works better for me...are you free on the 82th?
Look. Some of you might be worried about my getting irreversible, potentially lethal surgery from the narrator of Gogol's Diary of a Madman. (Actually, I'm willing to bet that none of you were thinking that at all, because most of you who read this have loved ones and/or friends with whom you interact instead of reading 19st century Russian literature for comedic inspiration).
But really, you shouldn't judge a man based on his grasp of English grammar; surgery, after all, is a universal language. The outcome of the operation is not dependent on my doctor's ability to eloquently avoid split infinitives. It is based on his ability to provide me with a limited amount of local anesthesia and meticulously grind away at my nasal and sinusoid cartilage and bone with a miniature bone-saw, while keeping the blood out of my eyes, which will be open the entire time.
I think everyone can agree that this has nothing to do with English grammar. Everyone, that is, except Dr. Hung Hung, who can't understand that sentence.