Excellent news this week from the neurosurgeon. He thinks my weird lump is a bursa formed over a piece of spinal instrumentation. It will take managing, but is not a marker of something more sinister, for instance that the hooks and screws and rods that inhabit my spine are starting to break apart and I will need some kind of awful surgery to put me back together, Humpty Dumpty style.
Thank you, daytime nightmares, you can leave me now.
I have some degeneration and bulging in the old discs but that can be managed too. I have been trying to do a session or two from this yoga app every day, and I am generally feeling much stronger than I was a month ago.
I feel relieved that the spectre of surgery isn't facing me. And in the way of the universe, I have been hyper-aware of the suffering of others around me and grateful for my good fortune. Kim the blogger, for instance, whose descriptions of her pain would bring a tear to the eye of a politician. I've read Stephanie Nielsen's memoir this week, and once you get past the gushy god-bothering, it is an incredible tale of resilience. Nothing like people with real worries to remind you what a massive baby you are.
I feel the sun on my shoulders this week. All the small wonders of my life are sparkling. Keith needed a picture for a science journal bio, so we snapped him looking serious but wearing my lady-specs, Ivy and are I are baking the solar system in dough, Ted is possibly some kind of dot-to-dot genius, and Georgie's baby-mullet is really coming along well.
I wish the same mundane, glorious joys for you.