Surgical Interlude

This weekend Dave and I took the dogs on a drive to our favorite little mountain town, Salida. The weather was hot, the sun was bright, and the river was full of happy people enjoying a dip in the icy rushing waters of the Arkansas River.

For me the trip was much like those last few days of summer before school, a last getaway, a chance to enjoy yourself before the hard work begins anew. Because tomorrow we will rise early in the morning and head to the Denver neurosurgical center where I will undergo spinal fusion surgery.

Over the past six months, I've learned that many people know someone who has gone through this surgery. For the most part, with a few exceptions, the patients have been pleased with the results and had positive outcomes. I am hoping for the same.

When I was first told this might be the last option available to relieve years worth of pain, several somewhat legitimate but irrational fears crossed my mind. What if I don't survive the operation? What if I'm paralyzed? I do understand that my fears have little basis in fact. After all, that's what makes them irrational, isn't it? Nevertheless, I indulged them anyway.

Here's why: My family does not have a good track record in terms of longevity. Two of my closest uncles were lost at age 47 and 53. A cousin died at the young age of 52. My eldest brother passed away shortly after his 55th birthday. In secret, I've long told myself that if I could just get through my fifties, I'd be home free. Then along came this problem and it was decision time. What to do?

Dave reminds me that I do not share the same health and lifestyle issues as my uncles, my cousin, or even my brother. Thankfully Dave is more rational and logical than me. Since he gives more credence to science than emotional arguments and--unlike me--is not prone to overly dramatic interpretations of fact, he is usually able to talk me down from the high ledges I seek when I'm afraid.

So off we go as I begin this surgical interlude in my life, a challenging time between the first act--in which I suffered more than was really necessary--and the future scenes yet to be written.

The past few months have put a dent in my journaling. An unpleasant running commentary has taken control of my thoughts and virtually silenced the writer within. However, my inner wordsmith assures me that once the softly lilting intermission music has ended, she stands at the ready, poised to write the second act. And she is prepared to write scenes for an actor not at all in pain.

Stay tuned…