Word: thighed
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...surgical procedure doctors carried out on Richard Nixon is relatively common and uncomplicated. Opening Nixon's abdomen just above the groin, Dr. Eldon B. Hickman clamped a 1½-in. serrated plastic clip across the iliac vein from Nixon's left thigh, just above the spot where a clot, discovered last week, had formed. Hickman said later that he could "readily palpate [feel]" the clot during the operation. The teeth of the clip (called a Miles clip, after the physician who invented it in 1962) were closed, creating a sluicelike effect that permits blood-but not large clots...
...satisfied with the results of routine tests on his treatment for phlebitis. There was no evidence of new lung clots, but Lungren reported that one major vein in Nixon's left leg was almost totally blocked, and there were several previously undetected clots in his left thigh. Nixon's dosage of anticoagulant drugs was increased, and Lungren said that if this is not successful, surgery might be necessary...
Daughter lacks the stature of Donizetti's comic masterpieces Don Pasquale and L'Elisir d'Amore, but it does provide Sills with countless opportunities for lambent fioriture, whistling-high E-flats, and howling farce. Her windup salute, which starts somewhere near her right thigh and then circles deliciously upward, has to be seen to be believed. So does the way she gives her dancing master a knee in the chin, or wraps him around her neck while learning to do the quadrille...
...loving bataca shot behind the right ear. As he got up off the floor, he shrieked, "Don't tell me that dingbat has written another book!" and ran right downstairs to our coffee table. He found it there, of course, and kept howling and slapping his thigh as he read your keen advice. Not even another bataca thump could make him stop laughing. He's just repressed. All the money I've invested in ropes, pulleys, electric gadgets and batacas, and George still doesn't think they have much to do with expressing affection. It burns...
Meanwhile, Regalado, a husky Mexican in his middle twenties, was grimly surveying his chip shot, moving in quick, graceful steps, like a matador inspecting a bullfighting arena. Then he pulled out an 8-iron and chipped his ball about six feet past the pin. He slapped his thigh in anger...