After lunch, I called the cable company to cancel our service. We had just switched to a different internet service and need to cancel the old one. It took forty-five minutes and four phone calls. I wonder how long it would have taken if I had called and said I wanted to get the most expensive package with channels from every country on the planet. $1200 a month? I bet that phone call would have taken three minutes.
After that, I had physical therapy. I felt sorry for Evan for having to deal with me in such a mopey mood. These poor folks on my PT team and the desk crew at the YMCA now make up much of my social life. I told Evan that after 45 minutes on the phone with the cable company, I had lost my will to live. I was kind of joking, but then I also said I now under the two week window for my surgery, and I was getting a little freaked out. This was his cue (bless his heart) to tell me his life story to distract me from my misery.
Later, Jack, Claire Adele and I went to dinner. We had a twenty minute wait, which turned in forty. I didn't bring my crutch to give people a visual cue that I am not fully physically capable. When a seat on a bench opened up, I took it. Sitting beneath Jack and Claire Adele, I started to think about what was bothering me. I felt this strong need to finish the taxes and a quilt I had been working on for several months before my surgery. Why? At first it was because I thought I might be too drugged up or out of commission after the surgery, but that didn't seem right.
I remembered back more than twenty years ago when my grandfather had his triple bypass surgery. I remember being outside of the hospital room when my grandparents were inside discussing final details about the wills and other assorted paperwork in case he died. I am sure they had a more meaningful conversation as well, but neither of my grandparents were the type to look at the glass half empty. My grandfather had one of the busiest heart surgeons in Chicago. We knew this guy had a great reputation, but this was still open-heart surgery. My grandfather was more than seventy years old, and he wanted to live to attend his fiftieth wedding anniversary. My grandmother was planning a big shindig, and she needed a living spouse for this to happen.
I thought of this as I entered the t-minus two week countdown for my surgery. What if I die?
I told Jack what I was thinking, and he said something along the lines of "Nonsense! People don't die during knee surgery."
But what if...I have a stroke or a blood clot or a heart attack? Bad things have been on a streak lately: losing the election, my mom going to the memory care unit, getting my knee banged up in the first place... I was not feeling optimistic.
The next morning, Jack and I walked Fox. I told Jack a list of things I wanted done in case I die. "You need to by nice to the Boy. I want a Catholic burial. See if you can find a church."
"I am sure I can find a church that will take my money if you die," he said.
I told him who to call in case I died. The best thing to do would be to scroll down my phone and make calls. Many of my friends are in different circles, and would probably need a direct connection. I gave him a list of five people I did not at my funeral or memorial. They could be asked to leave, if they bothered to show up, which I doubt they would.* I told him to give Claire Adele my jewelry when she is old enough to take care of it.
I felt slightly better talking about it and making a plan. I am still not looking forward to the surgery, but I am looking forward to it being over.
* In case you are wondering if you are on this "Not Invited to My Funeral" list, ask yourself if you would be so sad if I died that you would need to attend my funeral. If the answer is yes, then you are invited. If you would gloat a little at my demise, forget it. You are off the list.
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