Seeing the small and tough bits of thread that held my neck together and feeling the pulls. All done.
It matters this step. Hearing the nurses tell me I'm healing well. That I'm through this one.
10 operations over my life time. And I know the odds are there will be more.
I tiny little bit of me wants to indulge the idea that maybe, there might not be. I don't know the statistics.
I am doing more normal stuff. Going to the chemist on my own. A little bit of gardening. Making dinner almost all by myself.
They all matter.
And I had tried to prepare myself for not being here, this independent.
I saw how I pointed at something I couldn't reach easily and without pain the other day. I saw my dad's hand. I saw his struggles. I saw what might have been. I don't really know how he did it. To have a fully working body and then not.
I miss him. I know he'd be so proud of me getting through this next one. And he'd feel so responsible too.
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