Knee Stress

Just in case you were wondering what/where a medial meniscus is, here you go. On Tuesday morning I will go under the knife, ok, the scope, and have mine repaired. It's so not a big deal of a surgery that I feel whimpy even talking about it. The doctor I'm seeing does them every day of the week and Zane has had three, count 'em three, knee surgeries since I met him. I probably rolled my eyes a lot when he got scoped, and didn't appreciate his apprehension, pain and recovery process the way I ever will in the future.

When we lived in Jackson Hole it was always funny to see knee surgery scars galore in the summer when everyone was in shorts. Being the ski town that it is, there were loads of people who sported the five-inch long scar going across their kneecap. Sort of a badge of honor. Now the surgery is different and there will be two tiny holes on either side of my kneecap when this is all said and done.

I feel like I'm leaving my family for a longer period of time than I really am (five hours at the hospital and another twenty-four or so too loopy on pain meds to be of any use). I am cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping and folding laundry like I'll be gone for a month. I don't like leaving my household duties to anyone else. I am worried that my kids won't survive. This is a total joke, as Aunt Carly is taking over for a couple of days and Wilson and Eliza know darn well that means swimming, movies, Powells, and playing with goggies. They are actually looking forward to this exciting interruption to our regular schedule.

I, however, am not looking forward to it. I'm scared of anesthesia and pain. I am mad that I won't be back in the foothills until August. I'm worried that the world will implode without me and that Zane won't know that a dust bunny appears every single day in the corner under the red table. (Yes, I know there is medication for this)

*Deep breath*

I have an excellent doctor. My sister will take better care of my kids than I do. My husband knows enough about this process to extend sympathy. I have torn cartilage, not cancer, like three of the moms at my kids' school. It's all good. See you in a few days, with my owie fixed and a new scar to boot.