It dawns on me that I’m a whimp. I’ve had two surgeries, spent eight days in the hospital, took some antibiotics that destroyed my appetite, i’m struggling through the pain of getting my knee working again and have the threat of a returning infection leaving me without a knee for three months. But it’s not going to kill me. I’ll eventually be fine, there is not just hope, but a fair amount of certainty. And yet I spend time in dispair. I wonder if I can stand another stay in the hospital, I induldge in self pity.
And there’s the local Marine sargent whose legs were blown off in Iraq. He’s had 30 operations. You can tell he’s a (cliche alert) shell of his former self. And he gets on TV and talks about how blessed he is, how great life is. There’s the 12 year old girl who was dragged under a van this winter by a hit and run driver. She has been in the hospital for months, she appears cheerful on the news as she struggles to regain the ability to walk. And what about those people who’s obituaries you read. “….courageous battle against cancer.” What if you had no hope. You knew the rest of your life was going to be pain and hospitalization on never getting better, only getting worse, with the likelyhood of death. What about them? I can’t imagine what I’d do, but I think I might opt for the easy way out. I’m surprised more people don’t.
So if I whine, if I tell you the rehab is too hard. If I tell you I’m afraid of the infection returning, kick me in the ass, tell me I’m a lucky bastard and to get back to work!

edit 3:15 So I’m walking up the stairs in the house and it suddenly dawns on me that something is different. I’m going up the stairs in normal fashion! Completely absent mindedly!