Well, tomorrow's the day. I'll need to be at the hospital at 8:45 a.m. for surgery at 10:45. I was told by my neurosurgeon's office on Friday that I won't be coming home the day of surgery as my son-in-law did after both of his neck surgeries. I may not even get to come home on Tuesday.
It is my plan to chronicle each day of recuperation as soon as I'm able to type. Nothing but gibberish may show up as I'll be drugged heavily to keep me as immobile as possible, but I'm not planning to let that slow me down... much.
If everything goes as planned, my fingers should start working right again. My hands should follow suit. Both should perform better with much less pain.
Pain. I've been told I'll have the worst sore throat of my life, post surgery. Yeah, that makes me really wanna go through with this.
Okay, I'm off to pack up what little bit I'm allowed to take with me and to get a good night's sleep.
Yeah.
Right.
Drugs?? Now! Please.
Life with osteoarthritis and fibromyalgia is just one freakin' picnic.
So, if you're of the persuasion, kind thoughts and prayers are being gratefully accepted. Moral support would be good, too.
After all, I'm only allowing a surgeon I've only met once cut open my throat to rip out parts of my vertebrae while he reams out the spinal cord opening, shaves off bone spurs, and re-builds connective tissue and bone.
I intend to ask him what's in that paste he cooks up with the ground up cadaver bones. If it's silly putty and they try to charge me $50K for it, there's gonna be some very loud yelling.
Once I can talk again.
I may have to wait until getting back home to update this blog for the first time. From my stint in the hospital with home-grown meningitis two years ago I'm fully aware of how snitty they get when I remove that little oxygen monitor from my finger and place it on my toe so I can type.
Okay, off to bed...
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