It is S - Day. Finally. Just gone midnight and I am about to go and make some porridge and get yet another bottle of water. I can't have food after 2 am and seeing as I had my dinner just before 6pm I figure a little something now might stop me from climbing the walls mid-morning. Hopefully I will have gone down to theatre by then.
'Hydrate', they said at my pre-op assessment, 'as much as you can. It will help us get the canula in.'
Just writing the 'c' word makes me shudder. I have had so many of the things in my arms over my many stays in hospital that it is really hard to get them in. I did warn them.
"Please be gentle,' I said. I hate needles. Except the ones I use for knitting.
I'm babbling. I'm nervous. I truly had hoped never to go under a surgeon's knife again. I have long scars on my abdomen. Scars on top of scars there. From top to bottom and from one side to the other. I have scars on my arms and on my back where dodgy lumps have been removed and numerous ones on my legs. My mother always said I'd trip over the pattern in the carpet and the marks on my legs attest to that. My feet, however, have none. None at all. I had never thought about that until this evening. Sitting on the sofa watching the tellybox, feet up as always, the lumps around the joint that is being sliced and diced tomorrow caught my eye. It was then I realised, as I massaged my foot ... not only are my feet very soft but they are also unmarked. I have always taken very good care of them. My mother, for all that she could be when her mental illness had her in its grasp, always made sure I had good leather shoes, usually red. I invest in my shoes and I always have, and apart from special occasions I have never worn high heels. I like my feet. I value my feet. Even more so these past two weeks as I have contemplated this surgery. Tomorrow my left foot will join the rest of my body and will have a scar of its own. It will also be home to a couple of screws and possibly metal plate. I will still love it.
Do you love yours? Have you ever given them a thought as you go about your day? Not when they are hurting but rather when they are just doing their job - keeping you upright, assisting in your locomotion or rhythmically moving as you dance or ride a bike?
We take so much for granted, don't we. No judgement there, just fact. Perhaps, just for today, think now and again of your feet and all they do for you. They give us so much freedom and endow us with so much choice.