I have a new fear. I am afraid of having a seizure in the shower.

It’s kind of silly. My likelihood of experiencing a seizure as a result of the surgery is relatively low, although looking at the big honkin’ bottle of Keppra in my dresser drawer reminds me that my neuro team knows that the risk isn’t so low it’s negligible or ignorable. And seizures increase the risk for mortality after such an operation like mine.

But the deal with a seizure isn’t so much that I’m afraid of the seizure itself; I’m afraid of falling and hitting my head. It hurts already. I don’t like it when things happen to my head. And the tub is hard.

I mean, why do you think I’m such a chicken on a road bike? Even with a helmet, my head is a good five feet above the asphalt, and there I am sailing along faster then maybe God intended, my tender little head wearing nothing but a piece of styrofoam, my road tires nothing but glorified rubber-and-Kevlar rubber bands. Over 20 mph and I get very nervous.

Anyway, like I said, it probably won’t happen. But I look at the bathtub sideways for a bit before I step in.

Off to get clean and face my fears, small and silly as they are.