Things were going swimmingly, until the torn flexor tendon in my hand worsened.
I told myself it was just another hurdle, nothing that couldn't be overcome.
Minor inconvenience. Surprisingly painful however.
Then the cherry on the icing. One sleepless night spent writhing in pain, to the point that I was too incapacitated to drive myself to the hospital. I self diagnosed appendicitis.
Wrong. The lone, shriveled up, useless ovary they left in me decided to rupture.
That's it, I'm officially a beat up battleship to be decommissioned.
I grocery shop in an electric cart, this is the end. Or is it? July 1st, I kicked all my crutches, knee scooter and electric scooter to the curb. Done.
My coworkers attempt to rein me in, but I revolt, take a chainsaw and go attack a tree by myself. Don't mess with me when I'm pissed off.
103'F. This is more like it.
Recovery time over and done,
This is how we roll.
July 15th, I strut into my surgeon's office, plunk myself down and await the reprimand for walking with my boot cast instead of using my knee scooter. He can tell from the wear on my boot that his orders were tossed out the window. Looking at the Xrays, he notes exceptional healing and instead of 6 more weeks in the boot, he tells me that if I can stand it, to try on a shoe. I get an A+.
Decommissioned my arse, the SS Smith has plenty more battles to be fought. She's back.
Dinged up, limping, more tempestuous, but BACK!
