Monday was a diagnostic procedure. Non-zero chance of negative outcomes (6% chance of injury up to and including death). I wasn't scared, per se, but I spent the weekend in a sort of existential ennui, unable to think about future plans.
I got there and it was the full routine; surgical prep, shaving and sterile draping, IV and drugs. One of those threshold experiences. Like travel, like going off to school. Continuity of identity is an illusion, after all. We change constantly, our behavior altered and our very thoughts running in different patterns when we are in different environments.
And I'm still not back. Over this week I just haven't emotionally re-connected with the life I was living last Friday. I'm left floundering as the things that held enough meaning to be my motivators just aren't there right now.
Not helped by recovery. Under instruction to avoid straining my right wrist, which included driving, practicing violin, lifting heavy objects or really doing much of what I normally do. I made up for it with long walks, walking to work through the rest of the week.
And the news is good. My heart is healthy. So at this point heart, lungs both normal, blood chemistry seems normal, vitals are all in a nice healthy range (surprisingly healthy for my age and lifestyle). So the engine is good. Still no clue why every couple of months it just stops answering the engine room telegraph.
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