It was another amazing day…
One class act.
Records were made, others broken, along with what I’m sure were more than a few hearts and dreams. Once again, the amazing people of the city of Boston opened up their homes and their hearts, and welcomed the world to one of it’s most prestigious races. And as usual, I laughed and cried my way through the hours of live coverage, all the while thanking the race gods for keeping my phone from ringing so I could watch every moment. While at work. Thank god for understanding bosses.
Not my boss. But she could be.
All of this was somewhat tempered by the phone call that I knew was coming. You know the one. “Yes ma’am, have your dupa to the hospital two hours early so you can sit around on it while we waste your time, and eventually get around to knocking you out, slicing you open, waking you up, and kicking you out the door with a set of crutches your insurance probably won’t pay for and a prescription for painkillers that we know you don’t want but we’re going to make you take anyway.” Yeah, that one. Cue dramatic music…dunhdunhduuuuunnnnhhhhh!!! Yup, it’s SURGERY TIME.
You all know my head is typically one of these to begin with.
Welcome to my brain.
Knowing the time has finally come to hopefully get one of my knees fixed has the brain in all-out F5 tornadic activity. I SO need this surgery to work if I’m going to keep distance running. Especially since I’ll need to have it done on both of these friggin’ kneecaps. The one thing that’s got me all freaked out?
All right, this wasn’t exactly the movie I saw umpteen years ago about people going under the knife and the anesthesia not working, but you get where I’m going here, right? Let’s just say I don’t have a great relationship with anesthesia. (Just ask the hubs about that unfortunate wisdom teeth incident. It wasn’t pretty.)
All that aside though, I’m looking forward to what will hopefully be a new, long, and happy relationship with my lower body joints. I have absolutely no idea what comes next as far therapy goes, but I’m feverishly holding on to the hope that 4-6 weeks from now, this Black Dog will be adding more miles onto her pretty pink Brooks. (And subtracting some of the inches on the aforementioned dupa.)
So as you head out the door to your day tomorrow, just take a second and send some pixie dust my way. And hope that it makes the anesthesia work just a little.bit.better.
Yup, that should do it.
Enjoy the ride.
Ever been nervous about having surgery? Everything turn out all right? Am I being a total nutball about this? Perhaps watching that movie “Coma” might not be such a good idea tonight?