It’s the long weekend, finally, and I thought briefly about signing up for the 3-Day Novel Contest but thought better of it: I’ve been sick and now I’m better, but I’m resting before surgery on Friday (Friday!). How close that seems. I’m wearing the pre-transfusion bracelet because it can’t be taken off, lest the number be invalidated, so I am very aware of how time is collapsing down from months before ‘The Day’ to weeks and now to days. I am a little anxious.
I think it will go very well, and I have been assured by many who have had a hysterectomy that it is not so very bad (the phlebotomist who performed the test and affixed the bracelet told me about hers and suggested I buy some sweatpants for after. I did not tell her that I had purchase five pairs, and that a coworker and I have a private joke about how I have fifty and will soon be suggesting that casual Fridays in the office become sweat pants Friday). I’m not nearly as upset and scared as I was about the surgery I had last April – this time, it is a slow worry, where last time there was a hard fear edged with panic. I am not looking forward to the pain that will come immediately afterward (though I have been told that is not so bad, either). I am looking forward to the relief it will bring from a semi-constant gnawing pain in my pelvis. I am sad that it means there will not be children of my own – though I have been saying that children were hypothetical anyways there is still a small sadness that there definitely won’t be any now. Not that I have really wanted children. But still. It’s a strange thing that you feel a little sorry for something when you know it’s not going to come to pass, but that’s just how life is, I think.
So no 3-Day Novel Contest because, frankly, I’m not really in that zone at the moment. I’ve been so focused on getting things done at work before I go on medical leave, on getting better from this cold, on counting the pairs of a sweatpants that I really haven’t thought much about writing.
And I am feeling good about getting this done – the waiting is the worst part of many things, I think, but I have a skilled surgeon to perform the procedure and a good hospital to go to. And the sweatpants to carry me through it.