It is nine months since my life was changed. Nine months of operations, waiting for operations and of pain both physical and mental.
I had brunch with Mummy, Joey and Griffin at the local breakfast place. They had temporarily left the Tour de l'Île to eat. As if to mock me the Tour went within blocks of my condo, only adding to confusion caused by construction related street closures in the neighborhood.
Jacques, my neighbor, came up to help me put fresh sheets on my bed. We fell to talking and I showed him my photograph album of my trip to New Zealand in 2002. I was disturbed at how dark my beard was. At times, I found it hard to recognize myself.
I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of worrying about whether I will be able to ride a bike again. A little over two weeks ago, the Ortho said I'd have another operation in two to three weeks, so I hope this week will be the one. Yet I'm afraid of hoping.
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