Now I've learned to sense when they are coming. Not quite like the dog that starts to freak out before the storm. Skies perfectly calm. No reason at all for the dog to be freaking. But the dog knows.
The dog always knows.
That might be the best book title I've come up with yet, "The Dog Always Knows." I'm gonna revel in it for a few days before I bring myself to look on Amazon and find out that it's probably some self-help book that's been around since the late 60's.
It's the drift. That's how I know. I mean...I see things in my life that are the moorings, yet I feel adrift. It's as though I'm standing on the beach. If I turn away from the water, I see the solidity of the land. The familiar structures in my life. The impending waves don't exist.
Until they do. The water slowly, calmly engulfing my sandy feet. Feels cool at first. A welcome change from the norm.
And then, I don't know...something makes me turn around. And that's when I get lost in the motion of the incoming waves. Off balance. Not quite faltering...just a feeling of being...adrift.
I don't know if that makes any sense. I mean to you. Fuck it. It makes total sense to me. That's what it feels like.
This neck surgery might be routine for the doctor. I'm sure he does dozens of them a month. And his life doesn't change. That's his beachfront property. That's not his wave. That's what he sees with his back to the water.
To me it's not routine. It's fucking scary. Not just from the surgical aspect of it. I read online how the surgery is performed (BIG MISTAKE). Anterior. That means front. Cervical. That means neck. Decompression. That one is self explanatory.
So...they cut in to my neck from the front and then decompress my spine. This is done by shaving parts of the stuff between my vertebrae.
Sounds routine to me.
Although, to be fair....the thought of editing a cronjob on a production server in the middle of the day on black Friday probably scares the shit out of this doc. But it's routine to me.
The surgery has me worried. The surgeon seems douchey to me too. And that's a big problem. Dude...if I'm paying you to slit my throat, can you at least not be a smarmy asshole about the whole matter?
So...surgery and surgeon aside. There's the recovery period. I didn't re-up my disability this year...because...well...I didn't think I'd need it. So...to have that time off somewhat covered, I'd have to wait until open enrollment in December and add it back in. My vacation and sick pay doesn't even cover 1/2 of the 8 weeks that is commonly quoted as the recovery time for this kind of procedure.
But that fucking wave is coming. So...I'm not sure waiting is really an option at this point.
I thought about the fact that if I win the lottery. I mean, not even full on win--just a little win, I'd be set. This thought made me smile. Until a friend reminded me that I don't play the lottery. Damn details.
I know that things are going to work out the way they need to. That the path I'm on and the steps I'm taking are the ones that I signed up for before I took this body for this trip around on the ride call 'life.' So...that doesn't worry me as much. I mean, sure...the wave is approaching. But I can mostly swim...at least enough to not drown.
As long as I can get my head above water.
That seems to be the key.