D-Day

The day of the operation to be remove my implant I was filled with an apprehension that fizzled through every fibre of my body. In truth it had been building ever since that appointment with Munjed. Each day it silently built. I tried to lock it into a corner of my brain I wouldn’t have to look at it but now it had become too large to ignore. Like a stack of papers it had reached such a height it threatened to crush me if it fell.

I had no idea what to expect from the surgery. How much pain would there be in the days after? It did involve ripping out an implant that had integrated into my bone after all. I couldn’t help think about the implant I had seen in Munjed’s office last year that had been removed from the only other patient forced to have their implant removed. The specks of bone still lay enmeshed in the metal. Thinking about it made me shudder.

In the waiting room I made jokes with the nurses, my parents and The Boy, trying to mask the nerves that were clawing at my insides.

I desperately wanted to leave. To be anywhere but in that bed dressed in the blue gown and paper undies. If I had a leg I might have run.

As they wheeled me into theatre I desperately wanted it to be over, to be waking up on the over side.

A bright and friendly anesthetist assistant with a colourful scrub cap and bold red lips chatted to me while they prepped the needles and prepared the concoction of drugs. Her bright lipstick was the last thing I remember before the drugs rushed forward to greet me.

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