Are You Ready?


In less than two weeks, I’m having total knee replacement surgery. When I scheduled that, I thought I’d have to clean the house so that when I came home from the rehab center, I wouldn’t have to sit around and look at the dirt and dust in all the little nooks and crannies. (Not that my house ever allows such denizens of dregs!) And that’s all I’d have to do.

Not! Yes, cleaning the house just before I leave is high on my list. But I’m also supposed to make the house safe. SAFE! I thought I was safe around here. Well, okay, I have the hair dryer cord plugged into a bedroom outlet and taped along the floor into the adjoining bathroom. (Note: Better get an extra outlet installed in my bathroom.) And then I have an extension cord running clear across my basement floor to accommodate a dehumidifier on the other side. (Note: Have an electrician put in a new outlet on that other wall.) And that’s just the beginning.

In fact, I’ve been so busy making lists and phone calls to prepare for this major interruption in my life that I inadvertently left a cupboard door open yesterday. (I never do that!) And, of course, then I walked smack dab into it. I only have a small bruise on my forehead to show for it, but a ton of chagrin.

While setting up inspections of rehab centers, attending pre-op exams and meetings, checking on insurance coverage and lack thereof, making meals to put in the freezer for when I get home, I begrudgingly realized that anything important in my life has required preparation. Going waayyyy back, I remember the preparation and anticipation of each of my children. (Oh! Those wonderful days!) And vacations—we certainly prepare for those happy occasions. In my writing, the research and immersion in detail I trudge through is almost endless. I even went to prison for my current novel I’m writing, the working title of which is Prison Break. Okay, I didn’t actually go to prison, but I was allowed to be escorted into a part of the Auburn Prison to get a feel for what it looked like—and was—from the inside. Even that took a lot of preparation, come to think of it: letter from me to the Warden, from him to Albany, and its return permission, with caveats.

So I guess I should quit my whining, do what I have to do, and get on with this thing. But I don’t have to like it, do I?

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