It's been a 4 year journey to this day: from those humble days on hands and knees ripping out harvest gold linoleum, jack hammering imported Italian terazzo tiles, and smelling the wonderful popsicle stick aroma of spruce underlayment where I most likely sustained an injury to my knee. At the time they didn't know what was wrong with me. They thought I had a blood clot because of the pain in my joints and tremendous swelling. MRI technicians even worked overtime so they could come and scan me. I was unusual: not a drug user, not a heart patient, and my normally skinny white legs were looking like ball park franks.
A course of steroids and a move to Canada later (to ice my knee - - just joking) I was bopped around to different specialists (sports med docs to the Canada Olympic hockey team) and then the wonderful day of May 10. I'm very comfortable in hospitals as I go and pray with parishioners and friends while they're awaiting surgery or receiving treatment in hospital. But when it's me I get all squidgy inside. I hate the word and concept of stitches and the thought of my insides being exposed to the outside makes me curl my toes and tell Writer Mom where the insurance papers are kept.
After 2 hours of waiting in Day Surgery (quite short by Canadian standards) my name was called. I was wheeled through the bowels of the hospital and arrived at the OR where we were told to wait since they were still cleaning up from the last surgery. (Take your time I'm in no hurry!!) I was finally wheeled in and the IV was started and 4 seconds later I was in dreamland. An hour later I was awake in recovery and ready for pain medication.
As you can see from the picture (what are we looking at anyway?) it looks like there was some messed up stuff in there. I haven't spoken to the doctor yet about what he took out, cleaned up, scraped off, etc. But I'm up walking and feeling pretty good. Thanks for everyone who prayed. God is working through your service of prayer.
And I promise I won't show you my scar.
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