The events which form the content of today's post actually occurred on Thursday, and I'd planned to blog about them then, but when I didn't have a chance on the day it seemed apt to leave it until this weekend. (In case you hadn't noticed, I like symbols, and although I'm not religious, this is a time of year which has significance for a number of different belief systems in terms of new life and fertility and such things - hence my tweet earlier today wishing my followers a happy Ishtar/Eostre/Easter.)
Now, I'm not pregnant. That is not the news. (Part of me is contemplating putting those previous two statements in ALL OF THE FORMATS [like that] to ensure my grandparents, who are very kindly reading this blog, do not get the wrong idea and an unnecessary shock - but I shall refrain.) No - by my references to 'new life' I mean a new lease of life - because it felt like that was what I got on Thursday. To be fair, these last few weeks at home have been awesome (in its literal sense, because they've filled me with awe [etymology geek alert!]), so it wasn't as though there was this major shift in gear on Thursday. It was more that I felt vindicated in what has occurred for me physically over the last almost-year (eek! How did that happen already!?) - because Thursday was the day of my appointment to talk about the future in terms of my body and medical intervention and things. I was scared. It was huge. I wasn't sure what the outcome would be and especially whether my consultant would share the enthusiasm and positivity I've been feeling about my physical state. It had to encompass graduation and life afterwards and, as a rule, orthopaedic surgeons can be pretty, well, surgery happy.
As things turned out I needn't have worried - not only was he very positive, and impressed with my improvements (and sometimes a little confused, because I shouldn't be able to do certain things that I can. Teehee - he, as well as my physio, knows nothing about this blog - don't tell!) but he was also extremely honest. People in the medical profession, and surgeons in particular, often have a tendency to use every tool of persuasion they have at hand (including, but not limited to, scalpels and latex-free gloves!) - so I was expecting something along those lines, if not quite as dramatic. What I got couldn't have been more different - a reasonable, unaffected discussion about various possible procedures and their implications - and, crucially, the acknowledgement that no of them are (or ever will be) certain to make me better. We even decided that, since everything's going so well at the moment, we'll just stick with what we know will work.
So today's good news is...more botox and no surgery for me! Huzzah!