“Did the surgery turn out as you expected?” I asked.
“No,” he said with genuine disappointment in his eyes.
“I performed the same surgery on a lady the same day as yours, and she is up and around and doing well.”
On October 2nd, 2015 my surgeon attempted to correct a herniated disc problem that had been plaguing me since February. I went through several preliminary treatments, trying to avoid the “S” word. But in the end, it was my next logical option.
The good new is that I can rest on my back relatively pain-free now.
The bad news?—I can only stay upright for brief moments. I can barely take care of my self. I have no choice but to take short-term disability and hope I’ll be able to do my job again in several months. I’m on Morphine and Valium to manage pain.
It’s Thursday, October 15. It’s a new day. I’m up. Dawn is out taking a walk. Heidi is at school.
And I have nothing to do.
It took me a while this morning to decide if was able to find and retrieve my glasses from the floor next to my bed. I could and I did.
Part of me hears Rocky music in my head: “Yeah, I’m gonna figure this out. I’m gonna beat this thing.” Another part of me thinks I’ll just make things worse.
At the moment, there’s not much I can do that involves more than 30 seconds of uprightness, anyway. What can I accomplish with 30 seconds?—Brush my teeth, if I hurry.
Our next move is another MRI. Dreading that. Sure, I want answers, but I don’t want the pain that comes with getting me out of the house, into a car, into a wheelchair, onto a magnetic donut and back again.
I’m only 52, I’m not ready to stop living. Here’s to hoping I’m only dreaming in slo-mo, or that a genius doctor will find the reboot switch, or that God will grant me a long and active life.
For now, all I can do is wonder, and type on this 1″ x 2″ virtual keyboard.
Thanks for listening while I whine. I promise it won’t be like this every day.