One step forward, one step back. Two steps forward, one step back. Three steps forward, one step back.

In 2015, I had my first surgical procedure at age sixty-two. Melanoma. I walked into the hospital early in the morning. By mid-afternoon, I was on my way home and cancer-free. By the next day, I went about my business as if nothing had occurred. The recovery was that easy.

Two years later, it was time for surgery number two. Same scenario. Early morning hospital arrival, home by the afternoon. The recovery wasn’t quite as easy as the first procedure, but it was close. After a couple of days, I was fine.

Since then there have been a few other medical procedures. While none of them has been close to what happened in 2015, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

But last year I noticed something that should have been a warning of what was to come. In June, I had a colonoscopy. It’s a fairly simple thing, right? In the past, they were so easy that after resting for a bit, they’d let me take a cab home, by myself. This last one was very different. I not only needed a ride, but after getting home, I was in bed for the rest of the day.

That brings us to the latest invasion. It was exactly three weeks ago that I walked into the hospital for Diverticulitis surgery. I assumed I’d be walking out the same way. You know what happens when you assume.

I guess I should have known better when they told me the procedure came with an overnight accommodation…and not exactly at the Four Seasons…well, maybe like the Rudy Giuliani Four Seasons. When one night turned into a four-night stay, I figured everyone, including the medical staff may have been understating the length of the entire healing process. I actually figured that out on my own the first morning after the surgery. I woke and noticed I was wearing a catheter. That’s not usually something that would escape anyone but apparently, the drugs at the facility were pretty good. When the nurse removed it, I assumed the worst was over. Again, with that assume thing. What the fuck did I know?!

So now we’re at the twenty-one-day mark of the recovery process. This was supposedly the day where everything was finished. BUZZ!!!

Yeah, I’m feeling better but we still have a way to go. The pain from the Diverticulitis has been replaced by the pain from the three incisions. That’s right, THREE!! It’s still painful to sit up for too long. I tire easily and I’ve also lost close to fifteen pounds that I can’t get back as of yet because my appetite is lacking. You know it’s bad when sugar-free jello sounds better than a pizza.

However, according to my surgeon, there is plenty of good news. The pathology report came back clean. The incisions are healing and look fine for this stage. I can eat whatever I want. It’s just a matter of time until I’m back to normal…at least physically. It’s the time thing that’s throwing me. I guess I’m more than a little impatient. Probably more than a little.

There’s a saying that growing old is for sissies. Until recently I thought what did they know. At least we have the privilege of growing old. So many didn’t get that. Aches and pain aside, that’s a reason to be grateful. All this is another reminder of what it’s like to be seventy-ish. That damn aging process. What’s next?

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