"There is no fear ... only perception"

I've had a couple of days to think about it. He said he could not tell me that it was time; only I would know when it was time. It might be in six months, it might be in six years. It might be now. What he was talking about was another surgical procedure to relieve pain. "You know how long this has gone on," he said. "You know what you've tried in order to relieve it," he said. He also said the decision was mine, again. He repeated all the hazards, the benefits, the procedure and the recovery time. He encouraged me to do whatever research I could on the procedure; talk to friends and acquaintances who had had the operation. He reminded me that I could (and had!) send him emails or call his office and he would answer my questions. But it still came down to me deciding when it was time.

 A special girlfriend and I went to Asheville, NC from the surgeon's office. We had tickets for the Christmas Candlelight Tour of the Biltmore Estate. It's an outing I especially love and of which I have fond memories. Last year there was a particularly nasty snow storm just before I went there for the Christmas frivolities. The place looked like a fairy tale (which it is, anyway) and the snow gave it a sparkle and fantasy quality even greater than it already has. Girlfriend is a nurse and has a long personal and professional history of caregiving on many levels. A good person to be with when you're trying to make decisions like this. Fortunately, she also has a marvelous wit and earthy sense of humor to enhance her impeccable good sense. We engaged in a little retail therapy before it was time for our tour to start. She kept an educated eye on my progress in the car, walking, climbing into the shuttle bus from the parking lot to the estate house, across the cobbled surface of the stable courtyard and, finally, into the house. For someone who grew up within haling distance of Disneyland (the real one, not those Floridian and European knock-offs!) Biltmore is almost a sort of coming home. I do understand that, at one point, people actually lived there - lived among the astonishingly beautiful and legendary pieces that one can see today ... from the other side of the red velvet ropes. But it is also a rather spiffing version of a Golden Age Sleeping Beauty Castle (American, not Neuschwanstein). In the broad light of a summer day it is magnificent. Decorated and firelight illuminated for Christmas it is simply magical. Girlfriend and I went from floor to floor, up stairs and down. From public rooms that make you catch your breath to private rooms that engage your fantastical imagination. Fireplaces lighted and candles flickering, decorated Christmas trees in nearly every room. Dancers in the solarium, chamber players in the third floor living hall, even big buckets of seasonal greens in the laundry area in the basement. Who would not feel like a princess again, even for just a little while?

We walked and talked and laughed. But girlfriend watched me, too. George Vanderbilt installed a couple of elevators in the house to assist guests and staff. The one for guests is available for today's guests, still. Coming down the Great Staircase to the second floor, girlfriend said, "You really should take the elevator, you know." The docent in his natty blue Biltmore uniform offered to hold the door for  me. There were two exceedingly elderly little ladies with blue hair and canes in the elevator already. I just couldn't. Smiling bravely, I assured both girlfriend and docent that I was fine to continue down the stairs. And so I did ... slowly and with clenched teeth. We finished the tour and the shuttle bus took us back to Lot C-3. We walked slowly through the rain to my car and I fell into the driver's seat (as well as one can fall into a Mini Cooper) with a huge sigh of relief. Dinner was at the restaurant we traditionally go to; we both love German food and have happy memories of that country. With the grace granted by selective memory, I had forgotten about the 12, 000 steps from the parking lot up to the front doors of the restaurant. So, another walk through the falling rain and pulling myself up the stairs. Youthful and elegant as we are, the first thing both of us did when we sat down was take Excedrin Extra Strength by the fistful. Then we both laughed. We talked of many things over dinner: lost loves, the beauty of the house we had just left, old friends, Germany, getting older and, finally, what I was going to do about the Elephant Sitting In the Middle of the Room.

I had a surgical procedure just three months ago in an attempt to forestall this procedure. He told me at the time that the procedure had about a 50% success rate. My math is poor, but I'm pretty sure that means that there is a 50% failure rate. I flipped the coin. I lost. I know what pain was involved in that procedure and recovery. Recent memory is not as full of grace as older memory. That's probably why we can't pop out babies every few months like mice do. So, now I have to decide if the anticipated relief from another surgery is worth the discomfort and risk. Add to that the very real pressure of a health care insurance system run amok. If there is to be another surgery, it is wisest, fiscally, to have it completed before the end of the calendar year when we all roll over into a new deductible period. What a miserable thing to have to take into consideration. But there it is. And, as my child is so fond of reminding me, what is ... is. Ongoing pain is an evil spirit that clouds everything. I am tired of becoming more and more fearful of my everyday life.I don't want to have to continue to fear pain every time I stand up and every time I walk. I am tired of being frightened when my small pack of short dogs goes tearing past me for fear of being knocked over. I really want to take back control of my life. Perhaps I have made the decision after all.

"What must be at last, had better be soon." (Jane Austen, Emma)