Yep, I've got a torn meniscus. And yep, I'm going to be going in for surgery a week from today. I'll have to miss work all next week, which means burning every ounce of sick time I'm going to accrue this year. Youch.
I found myself starting to get pretty angry this afternoon after coming back from the doctor. Partly it's because of the sick time burnout. Partly it was because it means having to hire movers to haul our stuff into the new house, and partly because it just seems silly that an injury that hurts so little requires such a dramatic step.
But just as I was getting in a tizzy, my family helped bring things into perspective. I'm insured (which is the difference between this costing $150 and this costing $12,000 or so), my company is being obscenely flexible with the sick time I haven't even earned yet, I live rent-free in a house where I can recouperate while multiple adults protect me from my dog, and I'm going through this process at what's likely the best time possible. Recovering in an empty new house that needs a lot of work would not have been fun.
In other good news, friend Emily just told me she will have three poems published in a journal out of Arizona State, so join me in congratulating her next time you see her/first time you meet here.
1 comment:
Supposedly, I'll be off crutches within a week of surgery, so I should be cool. Luckily ushers don't sprint people down the aisle like they're going on a Baghdad grocery run.
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