This is me getting ready for a surgery that I actually want! Yay!
Over the past 9 months I have had 16 surgeries on my legs to repair the after-effect of a car plowing into me as I stood at an ATM machine. My legs are now a jumble of scars and cadaver parts and transplanted tissue. And my career as an underwear model has been cut tragically short.
But now, I am actually choosing to have someone come at me with a knife! Not just a knife, a buzz saw! Like the kind you can get at Home Depot. Only sterile (I hope). You know, the kind with the little wheel that wizzes around and at my house, my daughters use it to shred their jeans so they look expensive, when actually, they are the cheap, Old Navy, non-shredded kind. I buy them jeans that actually cover their skin, but that is just not good enough. Because jeans that look like they’ve come out of a dumpster are amaze-balls.
So Dr. Luxford at House Ear Clinic is going to take this buzz saw and cut a hole in my skull and jam this long electrode deep into my cochlea and hopefully, in a couple of months, I might actually be able to understand what my family says at the dinner table. Though they claim that I really (really, really, really), don’t want to know what they say. Apparently, the dinner conversation in my family revolves around conversations about cat memes and fart jokes. But that’s news to me.
Since I have had so many surgeries, I am not afraid of the OR. Or of the pain for that matter since there is NO WAY this will hurt more than being pinned against an ATM machine with a car. But I am worried about my expectations.
I so desperately want to be able to hear my family better (despite the fart joke thing). I also want to be able to participate at parties instead of just smiling and nodding my head and laughing when everyone else does so I come off like some vapid, dumb blonde. (Really! I am not vapid. Insipid, maybe. But not vapid.) And I want to be able to talk on the phone. The guy at Tony’s Pizza is so sick of having to scream at the top of his lungs at me that he won’t even pick up when I call. He just sends over an extra large Meat-o-Rama, and I eat it even though I meant to get a vegetarian and only eat half a slice along with my glass of kale juice.
Is that too much to ask, or to hope for?
Or course it is, because I always do that. Ask too much. And now I must ask too much of all of you. I really do need you guys to stand by me through this. (Actually, you will be standing and I will be sitting in my wheelchair which is kind of awkward – but you get the picture.) I am truly grateful for this kind and compassionate and generous community. And that really is amaze-balls.