Men. I feel like the 12 year old insecure, pimply, butterfly-clip-heavy young girl in me still shares many similar gripes with men as the adult woman in me does. I'll get to why eventually...
So, as you dedicated blog readers know, I had my final check up today with my surgeon. The idea was to go in, ensure my leg was ready (i.e., no lacerations - hate that word - just say cuts, swelling is minimal, yada yada yada). All of that happened. I got my call time for surgery on Monday morning at 6AM!! Damn. It's not really like I had anything else going on, and I'm sure I'll have ample time to catch up on sleep, but my last 2 surgeries were mid morning. I shook the doc's hand, he told me the small percentage of complications, used bedside manner that let me know I was certainly NOT the only woman/person in the wings with an issue, and got on his way. Boom. Done.
Except not really. That all ended at 8:45am this morning. At 9:15am, I got a phone call. Yep, you guessed it. From my surgeon's office. My first thought was OMG how embarrassing if my payment didn't go through. Wait. It went through at the office. Wait. Is something wrong with my leg? No - he didn't say anything. OMG! THEY HAVE AN EARLIER SURGERY DATE! I'M HAVING SURGERY IMMEDIATELY!
I was getting warmer, but...I was wrong. "Dr. _________ is having trouble finding a surgical assistant for Monday. He wants to know if you can move your surgery to Tuesday."
WTF? Shouldn't there have been a surgical assistant scheduled when my SURGERY was scheduled?
I replied something like this: "Uh. I guess so - if that's my only option."
"Great. Your call time is 9:15am on Tuesday, the 12th. I see your final check up is scheduled for --"
"I just got out of there 30 minutes ago."
"Perfect! You're all set."
Well wasn't she a dear to let me know? 27 hours difference? No, it's not the end of the world. I DO have a slightly important work presentation on Thursday night that was iffy when my surgery was scheduled for Monday, but now I'm just going to pre-write a dialogue and slur my way through it. It is what it is, right? It's not THAT as much as....well, you know, MEN.
I "dated" this guy named Jose when I was in 6th grade. I think we hugged once. He threw a basketball at my head too. He was like 3'9" with bleached tips and 18 sprays of cologne. Dreamy. Well. About 44 hours into our relationship, Jose's friend Matt came up to my friend, Emily and told her that Jose didn't want to go out with me anymore. Could she let me know? Emily had no problem letting me know. Jose was approximately 100 yards away when all of this went down.
What's the point of this story? Helllooooo! Why didn't my surgeon tell me my surgery date was changed to my FACE? I mean COME ON! That's a MINOR detail that he could have easily let me know. It is only fair that I mention I have one of the top knee surgeons on my side, and while I have every faith that he will do a great job...should I be worried that these "surgical assistants" are mere players in his soap opera? Why can't he find any? Don't they want part in an elite athlete's comeback? What is he doing to them in between surgeries? I'll let it slide ONLY because there's a picture of Rick Fox in his office with an autograph that says "Thanks for getting me back to speed." Let's face it. The doc can move my surgery back a day if he treats my operation the way that he treated Rick Fox's.
Regardless of who, what, and when, the beat goes on. I'm now 6 days away instead of 5, and everything will still be just fine. I velcroed up my strappy leg gear, plugged in my ear buds, and took to my office gym to have a triumphant hour of pre-atrophic pride. Maybe that was just the push I needed today.
So what if my ACL is just another ACL to most others? I know what it deserves, and if it can't get the proper treatment and attention until Tuesday, then god damnit, I'm going to wait until Tuesday, and I'm going to feel good about it. It deserves to be handled with care...and let's be honest. In the grand scheme of things, I could really care less. Life will go on, and one day later doesn't really make a big difference. Maybe now I'll even treat myself to that beach day with an elongated period of freedom and mobility. YOLO!!