My foot surgery is 16 days away, but the scheduled amputation has already gotten into my head, and my life will change a bit before and after the surgery. I am secure about the decision, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t in my head.

The damage to our roof isn’t settling things down either. That will be a whopper of a bill. We will be fortunate to have it fixed so quickly.

But in a sense, recovery starts now, with planning and preparation.

When there is any serious or potentially painful surgery, an elaborate process precedes and follows the surgery itself. I got a thick packet of instructions from Saratoga Hospital today. It covers everything.

We’ve already gone over all the medicines I take and learned which ones I should take and which I shouldn’t.

For example, no insulin is allowed on the day of surgery because it lowers blood sugar.

Because of that my surgery will be scheduled early. I can’t take any blood thinners, either.

I’m not great at waiting; I wish we could go and get it done.

I have to get clearance for the surgery from three doctors – my primary, my cardiologist, and my pulmonologist. I’m seeing the cardiologist next week – I’ll get an EKG. The pulmonologist gave me a waiver; he can check my breathing online from the Sleep Apnea Mask App and is happy with the results.

There is no serious anesthesiology issue because I won’t be knocked out completely; I get an IV nerve block for my leg. I’ve had nerve blocks before. You are out of it and wake up remembering nothing. But those doctors are cautious and thorough.

Before the surgery, the anesthesiologist will come to see me, to see what I look like and how alert I am.

They always have a backup plan if they need one. I was warned that the pain would surge once the numbing wears off that night or the next day, and I’ll have a prescription Ibuprofen bottle available for the pain. I’ve been asked to take it daily for three weeks to keep the foot from swelling and to ease the pain.

Dr. Daly will come by to check on me before the surgery and ensure the left leg is marked clearly, so there’s no chance of removing the wrong toe.

I have a pre-op appointment with her two days before the operation and a final exam from my primary care nurse the same morning. That’s the final clearance.

I have some preparations to take care of. I’ll need at least two loose pairs of sweatpants to pull on and off over my surgical boots, which can’t be removed.

I will have to wear those special pants day and night for three weeks after the surgery. I’ve ordered two pairs of cotton sweatpants with wide bottoms.

I must apply ice to the wound every 20 minutes while awake and sleep with the surgical boots on—no shower or bath for 30 days. I’m told to keep the foot elevated for most of the day for several weeks. I’ll need to get the wound checked two or three times during the first week and one or two times after.

I’ll have to go to Saratoga for that.

I have to figure out how to maneuver around the house since my left leg will be numb for one day and possibly two. And I’ll meet with the orthotic people to start work on a new brace for my foot. The first one is great but was meant to protect the toe. The new one is for the foot.

The numbing means I can’t stand up on foot immediately; I need either a walker or crutches. The hospital will prove to me either and show me how to use it. Maria can come into the hospital with me, but not into the operating room. She’s planning to take two days to be with me for most of the night and day. I should be able to walk alone; if not, after that, I’ll arrange for a nurse or friend to help me.

I want her to return to her work as soon as possible; I dread the idea of her being my caretaker. Our own fried and handyman Mike Coughlin is available to come over and help me move around if that is necessary. I don’t think it will be.

Waiting for the surgery has left me flat and mildly tense. I’m not afraid of it; I’m excited about how this will make walking easier immediately. But the next 16 days will also require planning, preparation, driving, and meditation. Nobody wants to have a toe amputated. It is, at the very least,  disruptive.

I plan to blog every day, but on the first day, when I’ll be even goofier than usual. I will have to be creative about photographs for the first week; no walking in the woods or anywhere else. I’ll find a way; that’s the creative challenge.

When it’s all over, I can resume my everyday life until the non-invasive surgery for my Kidney Stone three weeks after the amputation. The recovery time for that procedure is ten minutes. They use sound waves and don’t open me up in any way.

Maria says I’m not quite myself; I’m a little somber and quiet. Sure.

The challenge for me is to get grounded now. Meditation works for me.