What it Feels Like a Few Hours Before Major Surgery

Hungry as all sin.

There are about a trillion things that you want to do before you're rendered useless for the next six to eight weeks.

You want to hike up that mountain you've hiked up every weekend since you were in college, you want to nail that trick you'd been trying at the skate park for the last few months and you want everyone to leave you alone.

Most importantly, you feel worried. You feel worried that the world is going to pass you by again–of course you've done this before so you can reflect a little bit–and that you're going to miss a whole swath of life because you can't walk.

You dread it. You feel sorry for yourself, and you don't tell too many people. You just tell them that you're having surgery.

You think about what used to happen to folks who had surgery years ago. How much longer they spent recovering. You read stories about John Elway and how he can barley climb stairs without wincing and you kiss your knees because you know that they can still be fixed.

You think about a major world event that, conditionally, could happen. You think about how you can't be there to see it, to write about it, to talk about it in the same context as all the people you know are able too.

You think about all the movies with hospital accidents and the people in there who were just trying to recover from an injury they never asked for.

Then, again, you think about yourself. You start to think about all of the details that you never recognized before. You want to call out all the people who double space after periods because of some flaw in their educational upbringing.

You think about all the details with your diet. You don't want to eat any of the same crap that you've been cramming. You're going to be immobile. You're going to get soft. Not fat. Soft. You accept that. You accept it, and you know you have to take it lying down, but you don't let that hunker you.

You buy the good food, like you always have, and figure out how you're going to portion it. You've always eaten well; but you've always eaten a lot. When you get your once a month junk food this time, you'll probably only have one slice of that ginormous pizza.

You think about the books you're going to read and how you'll be willing to give them your undivided attention. You're not going anywhere for awhile.

You think about the people that have it a lot worse than you do, and you wonder why you need to do all of this reflecting.

You think about the people who the world rushes by everyday you're rushing with the world. You think about how you're sort of joining those ranks.

You're not going anywhere for awhile.