I go back under the knife in a few days, and I’m not looking forward to it at all. The last time was so terrible. Even now, the feeling of drowning as I lay on the operating table willing my lungs to work, so very real.

I am sure this time round it will be better, with my two US trained doctors, working within a nationally ranked hospital. I’ve even taken comfort from the size of the bill, which is more than twenty times greater than the original Kazakh surgery.

I’ve spent the last 6 weeks just treading water, waiting to hear when I’d be fit to ride. Meanwhile, my bike has been waiting for me in Kazakhstan as summer wanes and the long Siberian winter marches closer. Recent complications with the original surgery have effectively set me back to square one. If I’m lucky I’ll need just one more surgery. If I’m not, then three. By the time I’m able to carry a pack it will be the end of the year, longer before I’m able to ride a 500 pound bike, and longer still before the snows melt. And I’m told, if I sustain another similar injury, my shoulder may never fully recover.

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