I Will Survive

Tomorrow's the big day: I have to be at the hospital at 5 a.m. for 7 a.m. surgery. Part of me is relieved that it's finally here, and part of me is scared to death. I'm happy that I might soon be able to live without the pain, but I'm afraid of how I'll be able to take care of myself.

I'll probably be on crutches for a while, and I don't know how one carries anything on crutches. How will I get food out of the oven or microwave? How will I water the plants? How will I feed the cats?

When I woke up this morning, it all hit me, and I freaked out. All of the unknowns came crashing down on me. I've been trying to plan and take care of things in advance, but I suddenly realized how many things I hadn't anticipated and had no plans to deal with. I didn't think I could even possibly get them done.

I took care of work once I calmed down some. I think it's taken care of well enough. I have my rides to and from the hospital confirmed, and a baby sitter, as well. I have food stockpiled and medications refilled. Laundry's done. Rent is paid.

Now all I have to do is show up. I don't really know what I'm worrying about, but I've had an impending sense of doom for a while. I guess I know all the things that could go wrong.

My greatest fear is that the surgery will not provide any tangible relief from on-going pain. I can't say for a fact that it will help me in any way. It could hurt me.

I have faith in my physician, though. It may be misplaced, but I don't think so. He's been practicing since I was a kid. And he left surgery as a last resort. It was me that told him that it was time. That I was so tired of living in pain that I'd gladly face that option.

I'm scared. I'll admit that readily. I haven't had surgery since my tonsils came out when I was 5. 40 years ago. This is new, uncharted territory for me.

I'll push through it, though. I see a physical therapist in my future. And I already know his name.

In the end, I'll be okay. I won't let nerves get the better part of me. I will survive.