Somedays

It’s all I can do to get out of bed. I'm having a day like that.

 Nine months post mobility stealing brain surgery and a little over a month after devastatingly painful spine surgery, I’m walking better (with brace and walker). Still I’m struggling massively with the upbeat joy-joy shit.

I know if I exercise more, my progress will increase. So will the pain.

I long for where I was two years, three or four surgeries ago. Jen and I walked a mile or two each morning, I could dash out to take my own dawn pics and go to the grocery without someone driving me and then rolling me along in a wheelchair.

Yeah, I’m fresh out of self cheerleadery energy this morning. Some of this has to do with the teevee shows that Jen, Oni and I watched last evening. In one, the main character was at severe risk of losing her legs. Fuck that shit, we moved on. In the next, a minor character was at similar risk. What the striped Christmas candy fuck?! Honestly, is this the new fashion in teevee horror? NO bloody thanks!

Where am I at this point? I still need dental surgery to remove two back teeth that broke off during this hellacious year (then posts in six months). I’ll have a no big deal eye procedure at some point if my eye surgeon ever fucking calls back.

These are minor in comparison to my usual scary shit—just annoying and time consuming. Here’s the thing—I’d like to walk into these procedures. I’d like to NOT need to put them off  again because, gee, gonna have more brain or spine surgery so I gotta reschedule.

I’m becoming a hypochondriac. That’s by the by, both irritating and flat out stupid. Aggravating too. I worry that every ache is a sign of a new meningioma that’s gotta be popped out pronto. Maybe so, Mayne not.

Average age of death for Nf2-ers is 65.  It’d be real sweet to make it past that age.