t-minus 22 hours

So, I’m having a very hard time with the thought of going into surgery tomorrow.  I’ve had surgery three times before (four if you count our IVF retrieval) and, for the most part, I think I handle it well.  Obviously it makes me nervous, but I don’t remember being panicked, except for the emergency surgery on my intestines.  That was a panic-filled situation all around.  I’m definitely on edge about tomorrow.  It isn’t just me going into that surgery.  It’s me and my two children, who can’t be seen and easily monitored.  I know my doctor will be cautious and is experienced in this.  I know she understands my fears and concerns in a very real way.  There’s a chance that her husband will be my anesthesiologist and I would imagine that he would have a fairly good understanding as well.  But I still can’t get past this heart-stopping fear.  The what-ifs are deafening.  I had to laugh just an hour ago when I was at the hospital for my pre-op tests.  The nurse did an ekg and mentioned that my heart rate was elevated.  Well, duh!  I just spent an hour signing consent forms and liability forms and going over the risks of what we’re about to do.  Of COURSE my heart rate is elevated.  I’m surprised my blood pressure wasn’t off the charts.  I’m trying to keep myself occupied by focusing on how I’m going to get through the 12 hours between midnight, when I have to stop taking anything…food or liquid…and noon when we have to be at the hospital.  I’m not consuming huge quantities of food these days, but I do eat about every three hours and I drink water constantly.  It’s going to be a long, miserable 12 hours.  I’m going to spend tonight making jello and clear broth soups for afterwards (along with a yummy eggplant-based pasta sauce for dinner tonight).  Maybe if I fill my time with cooking, my brain will give it a rest.

Normally, I hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Right now, I’m only allowing myself to consider the best outcome…late tomorrow afternoon, after hearing two little heartbeats, I’ll be back in my own home with four small incisions, tucked in on the couch with a snuggly kitty, a mug of homemade soup, a vicodin, and full control of the tv remote until I fall asleep.