I can hear the knives sharpening

The neurosurgeon gives me the once-over, taking yet another history
and trying to get me to touch my toes (they’re somewhere down there),
and also prodding me with a needle (much to my surprise) to see
whether it feels the same on both sides all the way down (it does).

A quick nose through the MRI scan confirms that surgery’s my best
bet. A microdiscectomy: small incision, poke down a knife and a
microscope, scrape away the caramel, tidy up as best you can, hope it
doesn’t return. If all goes well I’ll be up and about as soon as I
wake up from the anaesthetic, out of hospital after a day, then
avoiding strenuous effort (lifting, driving, etc) for a few weeks and
contact sports for about a year apparently (if I did them). Skiing
wouldn’t be quite so bad. I’ll have to press him more on that.

There are risks of course. It’s a balance between risk and reward,
as ever.

He tells me he might be able to squeeze me in next Wednesday.

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