The first of what I suspect will end up being several surgeries - the one to trim my unwieldly meniscus - seemed to have gone well (although my knee keeps popping, and I was hoping that would be alleviated). It's amazing to think that only two days after surgery about all I left to remind me of the procedure were two (over the counter) Band Aids to cover the wounds and the fading remnants of the surgeon's autograph above my right knee.
At least I didn't wake up with Ray Milland's head freshly transplanted, so I'll count it as a win. Oh, and I was listening to Proust's Within a Budding Grove on Audible, because I'm really cool.
I did have that moment when this view seemed to imply even greater significance in that it represented my new universe, an increasingly limited one and one that featured more and more time spent in hospitals.
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