I have gone through a range of emotions since I found out I had to have surgery: fear and anxiety topped the list. Convinced I could not possibly survive I have sorted bills, super, lodged my tax return, sorted cupboards and generally kept very very busy making sure I would not leave a mess. I just couldn't contemplate going into hospital without my affairs in order.
Now on the eve of surgery I feel sad and quietly resigned. I don't know whether my sorting has contributed to lowering my fatalistic anxiety or if is just the result of time. Time to consider, time to get more used to the idea.
This journey started months ago. Feeling quite unwell I went to the Doctor for tests, was given a referral to a surgeon whom I saw just for an estimate. He was ready for me and regaled me with a litany of horror scenarios, finishing with a story about people who cancel their admission appointments at the last minute. It was one of those, "you wouldn't be so stupid, would you" moments.
My appointment letter arrived, I notified work, family, friends and set about the business of coming to grips with the idea. In hindsight I wished they had whipped me in to surgery when I was feeling crook 'cos right now I feel well. I don't want to get cut into for no reason. Now it is more about preventing future sickness than dealing with a current problem. That is hard to deal with.
My surgery is really considered minor. Keyhole, although that is rather dismissive of the reality of four holes. People have been very kind and encouraging, although at least some must think me paranoid. No one has said so.
Well tomorrow is the big day. I will hold my chin up high and try to be dignified about the whole thing. Wish me luck. When its over I'll be forced to chalk it up to experience.
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