The balloon kyphoplasty procedure I underwent on the evening of Tuesday, June 9, 2009, to repair my T8 vertebra, is one of the reasons I mentioned in the introductory post regarding why it's much better to be me today than it would have been in the past.
Once Pain had been driven away, his brother Fear stepped forward to replace him. He slipped his noose around my neck, cinched up, and soliloquized thusly:
"Back surgery. You know what that means. You'll be sliced open like a croaker landed on the Cape Henlopen pier. Buckets of blood. The surgeons will try not to hack at your spinal cord while they manipulate the shards of bone."
In the event, owing to the balloon kyphoplasty, nothing of the sort ever happened to me. All I ever had to show for my surgery was a large needle hole, which has healed up nicely.