2 Weeks Post-Op
I remember hearing voices but I couldn’t open my eyes. All I felt was numb and it felt like someone, my parents, were trying to wake me up in the middle of the night. But it wasn’t dark, in fact it was very bright, I could see the white flourescent light shining through my closed eyes. Somebody asked me if I was cold and I think I might have replied, “Yes” because within a few minutes a warm blanket was placed on top of me. That was the last thing I remember until everything began to move.
Growing up as the oldest child with a dad who loves American football, I learned to throw a football in elementary school way before my younger brother. Come to think of it, I spent most of my childhood throwing things, baseballs, tennis balls, toys, and pretty much any other object of a decent weight and shape that was readily at hand. But throwing a football was definitely one of my favorites. Especially that amazing feeling of getting a perfect spiral with just the right amount of wobble on a deep pass followed by a great catch by the receiver and a touchdown. Speaking of touchdowns, one of my favorite and definitely the most memorable weekend activity my family and I used to do, was playing a game of 2 vs. 2 touch football at the local park. For the most part it started out as touch football but we are insanely competitive so it usually ended up as a game of tackle football and someone crying or bleeding and once, a broken wrist (street football – highly NOT recommended).
For my very first blog post, entitled “A Duck With A Feather”, I published a picture of Abby, a “wild” mallard duck who took over my backyard for several months a few years ago. I say “took over” because she and her mother literally destroyed the pool and turned it into a giant, disgusting duck pond until we forced them to move to the patch of grass next to it. Anyways, here is the story of how two ducks waddled into my life.