The "final" countdown...

"Where does your tongue need to be when you make your snake sound, Zachary?"

"In the front."

"That's right! And where are you blowing your air?"

"Out the middle of my mouth."

"Awesome! Let's give it a try. Smiley face. Tongue behind your teeth. Blow straight out the front!"

"SSSSSSHSHSHSHSHSHSSSSSSSSHSHSHSHSHSH"

I cringed as Zachary's lateral lisp hijacked his perfect /s/ positioning. Just as I was about to correct it with a verbal cue, I watched in horror as a giant wad of iridescent saliva exited the sides of Zachary's mouth, soared directly towards me, and entered my open mouth.

That's right. I swallowed Zachary's lateral lisp saliva. 

Occupational hazard of the speech-language pathologist. 

The next day, I received an email from Zachary's teacher, informing me that Zachary had tested positive for Covid and would be out for the next week. 

I mentally prepared myself for the fact that I would soon contract Covid. I mean...I had swallowed saliva infected with the virus! Certainly it was inevitable. It was halfway through a very long spring term. Half of my co-workers were in covid isolation. I was exhausted. A small part of me was secretly anticipating a little time at home for a week.  However, the positive test never came. Day after day, I tested negative. I had (somehow!) outran the 'vid. 

I had to assume that I was immune?

Fast forward ahead nine months. I'm home on medical leave, rehabbing Courtknee. I rarely leave my house, except to be tortured by my physiotherapist. I say "tortured" with respect, of course. I have many physiotherapy friends, and they truly are a helping profession, but a part of me suspects they were the kids who pulled wings off of insects at recess. I digress. I wake up one morning with a sore throat, fever, and severe aches. I call to cancel my physiotherapy session and am informed by the receptionist that my physio tested positive for covid. I swab my nose and 2 bright menacing lines immediately appear on my covid test. I had caught the 'vid! And in an ironic twist of fate, it wasn't from the hundreds of infected children I had been exposed to for 2.5 years, but in fact, it was contracted from my physiotherapist, the person who makes sick people cry for a living.

Disclaimer: My physio is a good guy. He's been immensely helpful in this recovery, and I appreciate him very much, Covid and all. 

Thankfully, it was quite mild and short-lived. I spent a few days shivering/sweating in bed, lamenting about how unfair the universe was, while Evan passed me food with a stick. Miraculously, he did not catch it!

There was speculation that my upcoming surgery would be postponed, but luckily the Anesthesiologist deemed me healthy and fit for surgery - so all systems go.

My right knee will be replaced on Tuesday. I am waiting to assess her personality before I commit to a name - but I do have a long list of very creative pu-knee names, as supplied by you guys! Thank you. I'm also going to to gently request that my surgeon at least attempt to make her look a little more attractive and composed (can we try for a straighter cut?) We'll see how that goes over, as surgeons are generally very open to feedback ;) 

"Stevie," our blind foster, enjoys tripping Courtknee. We call it "agility training."

Overall, I am moderately satisfied with Courtknee at the 2-month post surgery mark. I think the 'vid might have been good for her. After lying in bed for 3 days straight, I walked to the kitchen for some water and my gait was miraculously corrected! I stopped analyzing my hip hitch and just utilized Courtknee to get from point A to point B, which is what she was technically designed to do. Perhaps I was over-thinking things? NOOOOOOT MEEEEE ;) 

I'm in the gym daily, riding the bike, ellipticalling on the elliptical (what does one "do" on an elliptical?), rowing, and am even squatting and lifting weight again. I have been eating, breathing, and sleeping physiotherapy - man, I've worked my ass off the last two months - literally. Due to weight loss and muscle wasting, my ass has been reduced to a few bony bits connected by muscle knots. Courtknee still aches, and feels quite stiff, but she is stable. I've never had a stable knee before, so this is good. At least one of us is stable. I woke up a few days after the 'vid and couldn't remember if I was 42 or 43 years old. Evan informed me that I'm 43 and I cried. So...you know...I'm fragile.

This will be my 15th knee surgery. This will be the last knee surgery I will undergo in (hopefully) about 20 years. I will be closing a massive and challenging 10+ years chapter in my life, and starting a brand new chapter! Although it's dim, I can see a faint light at the end of this dark tunnel and am beginning to allow myself to fantasize about what lies ahead. I dream about taking a vacation where I can tour - like actually walk around a city. I dream about getting another dog and taking him for walks on the beach.  I dream about taking pilates classes, maybe swinging a golf club again,  and wakesurfing Candle in the summer. It's close. I can taste it (I didn't lose my sense of taste, thank God). 

This guy has been coming around lately - I feel like it's a good sign!

But first, I need to get through the whole chopping off of the knee bit. I'm mentally prepared for the bed pans, the puke, the tears, the broken CPM, the horrible hospital roommate, the barbaric first few physio sessions - even the blood transfusion if needed.  I can do this. Right? Yes! I CAN DO THIS.

Mom arrives on Sunday - what would I do without my mom??? I am so so so grateful for her! I'm sure she LOVES spending her time on a tropical island in the coldest, dankest, noisiest hospital on Earth. Yikes. That being said, I'm looking forward to watching Christmas movies together and maybe enjoying a modified pre-Christmas celebration together, once the dust settles after surgery. 

Cheers Friends - see you on the flip side!

Thankful for Mom