Finally. After a year and a half of symptoms, I was diagnosed with DeQuervain's tendonitis in both of my hands last May. And after nearly a year-long game of ping-pong between doctors, HR at work, physical therapists, Work Comp, and me, I have been scheduled for surgery on my right hand on September 8th. I'm not enthusiastic about the idea, but after eleven months of less invasive and ultimately unsuccessful treatments, I'm committed to this course of action. The pain, loss of sleep, and progressive inability to do even the smallest of tasks have taken their toll on my normally upbeat and resilient nature. I'm looking forward to the next few weeks as a period of healing and acceptance. An opportunity to ponder and slow down. And with any luck, to emerge on the other side with a better idea of who and how and where I am while I jettison the negative and hold tight onto the positive. I am cheered by the idea of cooking a meal and dressing myself without pain. I'm sure at some point I'll return to griping about the proliferation of weeds in my flower beds, even when I am once again able to pull them. And typing with more than just two or three fingers sounds like a pretty wild thing to do. I like to think I'll return as a better and stronger version of me.