As ever, yesterday's events didn't entirely go as I thought they might. Waiting for the op, I spent over 6 hours watching TV in a waiting area whilst bedecked in hospital attire. You know the kind of thing ... gown, slippers, paper-underpants. Yes, you read it right. Luckily I wasn't amongst the hapless few who mistook the latter for head-wear. It was hard not to laugh though.
It got to the point where I hadn't eaten or drunk anything for 24 hours, (total fasting had been requested) so I was in danger of generally losing my sense of humour about the whole thing. Luckily, just as this stage was being reached, a very large man wearing a mask appeared who then produced a felt-marker and proceeded to draw an arrow on my right-shin (see pic) which pointed to my right-knee. He then led me to a side room where I was laid out on a trolley and injected with what felt like rocket-fuel equivalent painkillers. A veil then descended, some fairies appeared and off we all went. Next thing I knew I was coming round with a very sore and very bandaged right-knee. No Deputy Dawg, no hurling. Things have indeed moved on.
So the Good News is that I don't require a second operation to reconstruct a damaged ligament (this had been presented to me as a possibility). The NSG News is that I have to wear Robocop's spare leg-brace and use crutches for the next six weeks. Six freakin' weeks.
Every single thing in life now needs re-thinking: Underpants of any sort are a thing of the past...can't get 'em on over this thing. Boxers are simply not an option under any circumstances. Ironically, I now get to wear shorts for the first time this summer as I don't possess normal pants baggy enough to accomodate the Robo-Brace. Bathroom visits are pure theatre.
And this is Day 1...