Tuesday - Entry 41:
I am sitting in the Sandy library and thinking about my options.
Today I received the results of the MRI for my elbow. Unlike the prolapsed disks in my spine that have not healed, my elbow seems to have recovered from the car accident last Spring. Healthy joint. Untorn ligaments. Everything looks right as rain except for a large, lumpy thing on the tip of it. The bruising I had experienced seems to have subsided. I can carry groceries without pain now. I can do push-ups and ride exercise bikes. I imagine I can start taking my bike out for a ride again, something I have sorely missed doing all summer due to this injury. What a shame it is wintery and wet outside.
Unfortunately, I have what seems to be a scarred bursa on my elbow. It's like an internal keloid. It in itself is not painful, but it might be contributing to the tenderness I still experience in that area. It seems benign, but who knows? We won't really know what it is until we open up my elbow and poke at it. I have only two options available to me: ignore it or remove it.
Removing it entails surgery and three weeks recovery, which means six weeks for me. That would mean that all the progress I have made in push-ups and exercise would be interrupted and set backwards. That might even mean limited typing. I hadn't even thought of that until just now, and wish I could have discussed it with my doctor.
By default I have just been ignoring the lump. The surgery wouldn't be major, but the recovery would be an inconvenience. I wonder what I will do. I wonder if there is a one-handed typing course out there. I am taking deep, relaxing breaths and choosing not to stress about it.
Meanwhile, I have my book to finish by next Thursday. I shan't be ripping open my elbow and poking about inside any time soon. And how can I be stressed when there is a cute thirty-something cluelessly giggling to herself a few tables away as she texts to friends? The scruffy guy sitting between us keeps looking up at me in alarm as I snatch a peek here and there, but he has nothing to worry about. At least he has nothing to worry about from me. Whatever he's working on has him sighing and furrowing his brows.
And now he has shifted his position and ruined my view while he furiously types. I suppose it is for the best. The blonde thirty-something has stopped smiling & giggling to herself and has begun to work. I should probably take a cue and do the same.