It is one week after the surgery. And here I am back to writing, not because I want to, but more because of the motivation of not breaking the writing chain. Over the last few days, I didn’t even have the inclination to turn on the Mac. The writing should improve as the energy levels return.

Before I went into surgery I was told that when I wake up it will be like “Hit by a bus” or “Hit by a freight train” as metaphors. Oh, I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. The surgeons and others who help prepare you really don’t know what they are talking about, unless they have experienced similar experiences they can relate to. Seeing does not mean experience.

Pre and post-surgery, I have been talking to my friends, neighbors, and family. Each one tries to relate to my experience based on whatever worst one has gone through. It is impossible to imagine pain and magnitude, being highly individualistic. However, if one has not similar experiences, Mr. Murphy has been kind to you, so enjoy it.

Here is what I would like to say. It is like being sent to war and not knowing what hit you on the battlefield. You wake up in a field hospital somewhere with some body parts missing, and several parts have been sewn together again. Now, one does not know what happened, but you start from where you are and go from there… there is no choice but to. One can’t wish it away or change it, and it doesn’t matter whether you accept it or not.

Well, I came back home Saturday last with a car ride home where I could feel the smallest bump on the road but also blessed with more baggage from the pandemic. I ended up sharing a shared bathroom and nurses with a COVID-positive surgery patient to I am on isolation at home with limitations until April 21st added to the mix. So, not the clean simple start I was wishing for where I could lean on my family during these times and that has been extremely constrained too.

So, I am bloodied bruised, but good to be back… and working from where I am on the recovery, one day at a time.