A little over a week to go until surgery. It is such a weird feeling. I know more of what to expect this time, so that anxious fear of the unknown isn’t there. But I’m a little weirdly unsettled, just the same, waiting for it to be The Day. I’m getting closer to closer to wrapping my tasks up at work, and now people are starting to stop by to say goodbye until October (in case they don’t see me before next Friday).
(I work with really good people, by the way.)
I have my books ready (I decided to order the Anthony Trollope six-set chronicles of Barsetshire books, just in case – I splurged and got the Penguin English Library editions as they’re so lovely).
I am sure that I have purchased all the sweatpants there are to be had in western Canada, and friends from Banff sent me a wonderful silly nightshirt. I have a bajillion comfy tshirts, an enormous variety of cotton pajama pants, and two bathrobes (both the same. One to take the hospital, one so that I don’t have to wait to wash the hospital one when I get home).
It’s just a hurry up and wait now. I’m steadily getting better from the cold – I’d say that I’m operating at 98% now, with just a bit of a naggy cough.
So things are getting ticked off and finished, supplies laid in, convalescent entertainment worked out. But more than that, I’m in pain and waiting for it to be resolved, and there’s the knowledge that this surgery will do just that. It’s been rough enough this week that it’s almost like the offending anatomy is having a last gasp, and I look down and think ‘you’ll get yours!’
Soon. Very soon.
I won’t, by the way, be blogging when it starts. Awesome Jocelyn has volunteered to come and post a status update afterwards, but I’ll be taking a blog break during the recovery. It’s not quite yet, but that is also soon.