I have surgery tomorrow. And I am scared of surgery. Haven’t been there. Haven’t done that. Not even when I gave birth. I’ve never had general anesthesia so I’m a little freaked out that I might be one of those people that go under and become paralyzed but still feel everything. There you are on the surgical table with your insides getting maneuvered here and there and you can’t even say, “Ow.”
If you’ve never heard of that happening, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but it can happen. My procedure is somewhat routine so it shouldn’t be a big deal. I will only be at the surgery center for a few hours and then on my way home with a nice bottle of vicodin to keep me company. Yet, I am fearful that I may fall into the percentage of people that die on the table. Doesn’t everyone worry that the one percent might mean them? If not, you’re lying. You know it’s crossed your mind that you may go the way of that statistic.
Aside from the fear of dying from this “routine” surgery, I am also obsessing about my last supper. I don’t want to eat too much because then my stomach will stretch too much and it will make me feel hungrier in the morning. So I want to eat something small, but good. Something worthy of a last supper, if it really comes to that. Right now nothing sounds good because the nerves in my body are all jumbled up and settling in my abdomen anyway, leaving little room for food.
Instead of worrying about the last supper, I really should be worrying about the last of other things… like who will get my awesome music library on itunes, or who will get the cool silver leather jacket I bought at a little boutique this summer. Or who will inherit my journals to see how crazy I really was? Or brilliant, depending on how you look at it. Ohh, maybe I should burn those before I leave the house. As for the jacket, I know there are many of you out there that would love to own such a lovely piece of high fashion, but I leave it to my cousin since she helped me pick it out. (wink, wink, Sue Sue) My roommate from college called all of my photo albums from our life over those special years. Hmmm, not much else I can think to give away. The kids are still Bret’s so don’t think about trying to get one of them, although they are super cute. Oh, my books… lots of books… come on over and take a peek, there’s something for everyone.
Seriously though, I am nervous — especially with what I witnessed with my dad’s hospital experiences and surgery this summer. Of course his condition was truly life-threatening where mine is not. But if you think of it, say a prayer for me. I may have felt like checking out of life sometimes, but when push comes to shove and the possibility of death lurks, even if only one percent, I am not ready. Morbid topic, I know, but it helps to write about. This is my therapy after all.