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Something Stitch-ed This Way Comes

Tomorrow at 9:15 in the morning, I am to report to the orthopedic surgery section at Huntsville Hospital Main. Less than twelve hours from now, I begin what will hopefully be the final chapter on this injury. It’s been around eight months since it became a regular, noticeable issue. It’s worsened significantly since then, in part because it took so long to get diagnosed. 

That reminds me. 

Dearest Rachel of Nottingham, do you remember when you said I was making up my injury? Do remember how you supported Dottie in not wanting to make a referral for pool therapy, which led to land therapy, orthopedic appointments, a hinged brace, an MRI, an actual complex diagnosis that makes sense given my connective tissue issues, and tomorrow’s surgery because I’m a “time wasting, hypochondriac” whose treatment for any issue is “outlandish”? Yeah, I’ve got something to say to you—emoji style. Guess what it is! If you guessed 🖕🏻, congratulations. It’s probably the first time you’ve ever been right to assume something in your life. If you guessed something else, then, from the bottom of my heart, congratulations on a lifetime of failures!

I digress. 

I’m nervous, of course. I’m more worried about the medicine choices that my orthopedic surgeon will have to choose from for antibiotics,1 anesthetics, and pain killers. But they’ve got documents on my reactions, so maybe that will stop me from being given the wrong drugs tomorrow. 

I’m also worried that I won’t recover enough to do things I love or miss doing. I know my age helps. I know my willingness to do the therapy for it helps. I just worry that it won’t be enough, that it’s too late. 

The surgery itself doesn’t scare me. I have a well educated doctor and most TOC orthopedists are talented at what they do. The hospital is also a great one and has a mostly awesome staff. I won’t even be there long tomorrow. 

Maybe what I’m really afraid of is the loss of control that comes with surgery. It’s similar to the anxiety I get over sleeping or using any form of transportation. But I know that I need the surgery, so a little emotional discomfort is worth it. 


  1. He sends people home on an antibiotic and on pain killers. 

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Janet Morris

I'm from Huntsville, Alabama. I've got as many college credits as a doctorate candidate, and the GPA of some of them, too. I have a boss by the name of Amy Pond. She's a dachshund. My parents both grew up in Alabama.

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