I do know I'll be leaving the mound a different person than the one who left the mound 13 months ago.
For one thing, I'm not allowed to carry luggage with my right arm. And if you ever shake my hand, you'll notice that I don't reach out like I used to. I keep my arm closer to my body, so it will never again be pulled to a place where it's vulnerable. I feel my shoulder no longer belongs just to me, but to everyone who helped bring it back to life, and so I must protect this investment.
Maybe just as important, I can now grab and play my favorite tape and pay for a fast-food meal, all in one trip. A new shoulder is a wonderful thing.
Finally, after tonight's game, if everything goes well, I may go up into my attic. There is a set of odd-looking instruments stored up there. You may have seen them before in a hospital. I want to bring them down and put them in some sort of glass case and attach them to my desk.
That way, any time they want, my children can see what tools were used to put their daddy back together.
