Pre-operation Pt.1


I’m bad with alarms just like everybody else. The ear-aching monotonous tone of my phone’s alarm sounded at 5AM. Let’s say 4:55AM because the phone was 5 minutes ahead when I set it the night before.
“Snooze” and “Dismiss” appeared on the screen. You know which one I chose right? I fell back into my slumber, relying on my biological clock’s alarm to wake me. The biological clock’s alarm was delayed as well since I overslept.

I got dressed in my work uniform; blue shirt, black pants, black takkies and a name badge that hung askew above the left side’s pocket, eating a sausage omelette before leaving home.
It was early, 6:45AM and traffic wasn’t that bad. Everything was still there including the paperboys at the traffic lights on the same spot everyday. Traffic wasn’t as bad as when I left home at 7AM, those fifteen minutes actually made a difference.

The blue, black and yellow hospital came into view. I stepped into the elevator and made my way up to the first floor where Dr. Niazi’s office was situated. He wasn’t in yet, but the receptionist was, a darkly skinned woman with even darker moles on her face and body. The white walls contrasted well with her complexion. Dr. Niazi was the knee specialist that I had been referred to. He seemed of Eastern origin, maybe Indian or Pakistani with a long thicket of beard flowing down from his chin and family portraits across his office walls, signs of a family man.

Yesterday he told me that my ligament was completely torn. Once it tears, its gone for good and does not repair or recover. He also that it was going to occur again if I didn’t undergo surgery
“A knee specialist from Durban by the name of Dr. Viljoen will be flying down to perform a series of operations with me. There is one more slot available and I would suggest that you take it” said Niazi
“How until I can walk again?” I asked, a nervous look appearing on my face
“About 4-6 weeks” he replied
The news about my recovery process grabbed me by the balls and squeezed hard. I had only been back on my feet for a month, enjoying my freedom of mobility. After the operation I’d have to revert to crutches, temporarily and start with physiotherapy all over again.

I took the slot, my employer was paying after all. We weren’t under medical aid. Mother had been unemployed for two years now and Father is a taxi driver which doesn’t come with medical aid. The amount of bills from all the physio and hospital visit would have been too costly for my parents. Injuring yourself at work has its advantages.


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