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The holidays are upon us once more. I've always enjoyed the holidays, never dreading the invasion of family and friends or shopping for just the right gift. But this year I'm preparing for something different that's both a celebration and a commemoration.

On Nov. 29, I will undergo a complicated surgery, hospitalization for two to four weeks and a recovery of four months. I've planned this surgery twice in the past three years, and each time I've had severe medical setbacks, pushing the surgery back several months. This time it looks as if it will actually happen.

While my family went Christmas shopping the day after Thanksgiving, I wrote out my "Advance Directive" in case the surgery goes badly. Instead of planning our yearly Super Bowl party, my husband and I mapped out our financial obligations while both of us are on leave from work. Scheduling household help took the place of accepting party invitations.

The celebratory part of this medical endeavor is that it's finally happening, and if it goes successfully, many issues I've struggled with will be gone forever. Nothing has been more frustrating or depressing than waiting for a final solution only to be derailed by something unexpected - and deadly.

It's been nearly 20 years since I've had surgery, and this one will be my 18th. For the first 12 years of my life as a wheelchair user, surgery was a regular event. The human body fights back aggressively when it is damaged, responding poorly to hours of sitting when it should be walking, developing the most ghastly reactions to the constant 90-degree angle the hips, knees and elbows are forced to endure.

Twenty years ago, I had one surgeon and a multitude of interns coming and going at all hours, each asking questions without reading my chart and arranging tests that were for someone else and nurses who were overworked and understaffed.

This time I have a team of doctors I've met more than once, a hospital that is better than many of the so-called high-class hospitals of a big city, and when I had my blood clot last January, nurses there were genuine, compassionate and competent.

The only surgeries I've ever really enjoyed were the C-sections for the births of my three children. The years of their training for adulthood have come to fruition, and they have become the adults I hoped they would be, taking over chores and responsibilities with aplomb and more. My husband is my nurse, chef, cleaning lady, grocery shopper and everything in between, keeping a smile on his face, ratifying what marriage vows are all about - love and support in good times and bad.

To my family, friends, co-workers and loyal readers, I thank you for all your good wishes. God willing, I'll be back.