"No man lives without jostling and being jostled; in all ways he has to elbow himself through the world, giving and receiving offence."
Thank you, Thomas Carlyle, for that. Perhaps this can be laid at my feet. Perhaps I've lived my life plowing my way forward, using my elbow far too often to ever be considered polite and docile. Perhaps I've had to correspondingly defend myself from the pushiness of others.
Or perhaps I'm just freakin' old.
Whatever the reason, the elbow that has been driving me mad with pain since August -- AUGUST -- is going to be operated upon Wednesday. I mentioned a month ago that I had a renewed sense of hope that this might be resolved. Being a wonk, I wanted the surgeon to give me odds. Being a smart man, he didn't.
The problem is, none of the myriad of tests show what the problem is. My MRIs are clean. My X-rays are clean. Clean, clean, clean. Obviously, I've been using good ole fashioned elbow grease. [If that ain't the piss-poorest pun you've heard lately, I pity you immensely.]
How can he be expected to tell me the odds under that scenario? And, me being me, how can I be expected to not have my typical Eeyore-like pessimism continually rearing its big-eared head?
I go under a general anesthetic at noon on Wednesday. The surgery should take less than an hour, and I should be out of the hospital and back home by 5 or so. He's going to record the whole thing and we're going to watch the DVD of it the following week. [Should I bring popcorn and treat the follow-up appointment like a date?]
As I opened with an elbow quote, I'm going to close with one that makes me laugh, laugh, laugh. Only George W. Bush could make me laugh like this by saying, "It's going to be the year of the sharp elbow and the quick tongue."
[Image stolen from someone else who clearly stole it from the House of Mouse.]