Hours Until Surgery

It is getting close. Close enough to count in hours at this point. Just over 12 hours from now, a surgeon will cut into my head and fish out the set of electrodes that causes me troubles. He will then hopefully insert a good working set, and good Lord willing and the crick don't rise, he will get all the magnificent electrodes, supplied by Advanced Bionics, tucked into my cochlea.

This is my third cochlear implant surgery, so at this juncture I have nothing profound to say or write. It is as they say "old hat" for my tired melon.
As I went down a recent memory lane, I read my old blog posting from my first surgery.

I thought I would re-post it from April of this year, when I was running the gamete of emotions on the morning of my first CI surgery.

This is from April

Change

It is just after five am here. I have been awake since four. I wrestled with the idea of staying in bed until six, but threw in the towel around four thirty.
I am enjoying a black coffee. My daily coffee would have cream in it, but today being surgery day, no dairy is allowed.
I sip it and think how good it tastes and will consider black coffee in future.
I made a feeble attempt to read this mornings Globe and Mail, but I discovered that my eyes moved across the lines, and my lips said the words, but no registering of the meanings was taking place.
Indeed my thoughts is on my surgery, and even further down the road my mind ambles. May 1st is my boot up date, so I am curious as to what the first sounds will sound like after eight months of total and uninterrupted silence.
My family of course is excited, but Dan was unusually quiet and very much extra attentive with me last night. He kept staring at me at dinner which made me a little nervous. I tried to relieve him on any anxiety by explaining the surgical process.
So in 22 days the "on-board" computer in that will be put in my head today, will be "booted-up".
Today while I sleep from anesthesia, the audie will come into the OR with her laptop and fire some electrons to ensure the implant will indeed fire, before they staple me up. The software in Suzanne's laptop will send pulses of electricity to the electrodes in my implant. Verifying that each responds an inch and a half in my skull. She then hopefuly will respond to Dr. Ned that all 16 electrodes are responding. Her part will be done for the day.

It has been a long seven and a half months in silence.
I still have another 22 days in my blackout of audio. I am not the same person I was when I became deaf. This I know for sure.
The quiescent of my life now has made me aware of so many of the smaller fragments of life. Little things are so important to me now. People are viewed with eyes wide open and looked at in a full panorama now in place of the diorama that was used when I had voice to assist in judgment.
I feel I have grown, but see how much more growing I need to do. I have met so many amazing people through their writing, and feel a sense of calmness that the world will be a better place because of these amazing people who want the world better, like me.
My skepticism about people has changed dramatically and because of the writings and actions of people I read daily, I view the world with much more optimism.
Until we change, nothing changes.

Good Lord willing and the crick don't rise, I will be back with turbin on my head and a big old anesthesia hangover.

Warmly,

David

"Even though we've changed and we're all finding our own place in the world, we all know that when the tears fall or the smile spreads across our face, we'll come to each other because no matter where this crazy world takes us, nothing will ever change so much to the point where we're not all still friends."