14 November 2000
	This is going to be one of those mornings where I don't know what to talk about that could be the least bit interesting. I could tell you how Matt and I bought our Thanksgiving turkey yesterday, and how Matt tried to convince me (jokingly, I think) that we wanted an enormous 20-pound bird. I could tell you about how I'm going over to K.T. and Kevin's for dinner and a movie tonight. I could tell you that the stocking I'm knitting for Mom is almost ten inches long now, and that I'll probably finish it this weekend. I could tell you about the haiku we're composing in my office.   But all I can think about is how I've got a consultation appointment this morning for surgery for my foot, and how nervous it's making me.   Now, look. I'm not completely craven. Blood doesn't bother me - even my own. Matt's marvelled at the number of scars on my fingers and knuckles, but I don't even remember most of those injuries. I don't go out of my way to cut my fingers, but when I do, it's not an occasion for panic. I won't say pain doesn't bother me - the whole point of pain is to be a bother, after all - but I don't think I'm a crybaby, either.   But I'm a little squeamish about my hands and my feet. There's so little padding there. So little muscle to protect the bones. Theoretically, I know that's stupid. I've survived a broken finger, and shots in my hands. (When they first started me on allergy meds, I got five shots in one hand in about ten minutes. I was five years old. I screamed a lot, but I survived it.) Heck, when they first started treating this condition in my foot I was getting a cortisone shot in my heel about every other week. (If you've never had a cortisone shot, count yourself lucky. Even in a spot with plenty of muscle to absorb it, cortisone stings.)   And I'm grateful my doctor has finally agreed that this is chronic. I simply haven't responded to any other treatments. Or, to be more precise, I respond to treatment for a week or two, and then it comes back. And any increase in physical activity causes a flare-up, no matter how carefully I stretch before and after. So I'm glad he's finally going to give the nod for surgery. I had the same surgery for the same condition in my left foot about seven years ago. There were some complications due to scarring (and the fact that my medical insurance ran out two weeks after the surgery, leaving me without followup care) but once I got those taken care of, my left foot has been sturdier and healthier than it ever has been since this mess first started.   But to think that in as little as a week, I'll be up on that table... It gives me the willies. The bottoms of my feet are itching and crawling just thinking about it.   Two hours to the appointment. Today is just a consultation. They'll take x-rays. They'll poke a little. And then they'll make the appointment for the surgery.   Eep. I just want it to be over.   Oh! Hey, I almost forgot! Jeff just recently earned his "E" fencing rating! Way to go, Jeff! Everyone say congratulations!   Word of the Day: craven - lacking even the smallest amount of courage; contemptibly fainthearted
	Currently Reading: - Lord of the Fire Lands by Dave Duncan   Current Projects: - Mom's Christmas stocking
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