Ankle replacement II

I picked the above illustration, because it looks complex--more complex than I want to think about at this moment. This week, I will have my second, and I hope, last ankle replacement.

I am going to take good care of this one. For example, I'm not going to move to New York City and walk all over uptown, downtown and every place in between as if I were thirty-years old again. That's what I did after my first ankle replacement. I had bionic expectations.

I now have small expectations: maybe it will relieve a little pain; maybe it will align the right side of my body; maybe I'll have less lower back pain. Maybe it will improve my balance. And so on.

My friend, Margot, in her mid-seventies, thinks I'm going to go walking and hiking for exercise after the surgery. "That is not going to happen," I told her. I swim for exercise.

But I hope to walk to Symphony Hall and the new Harmons around the corner, when it opens, without a cane. I want to walk to Trax to take me to other destinations in the city. I want to park at the back of a parking lot and not worry about it.

If not, then--well, a cane is a fine thing, so is a walker if you need one. So is a wheelchair that allows you to sit in the sunshine and thank God that you got everything you ever wanted in your life. Everything.