Theatre is booked for 18 September

And I don’t mean the fancy kind where you dress up in your “night out on the town” kit. Unless you consider a bottom-bearing hospital gown as dressing up?

All jokes aside, I am terrified. The doctor I consulted this morning told me not to worry, it’s minor surgery and it’s a routine op … Let me tell you something – There is nothing “minor” or “routine” about going under anaesthetics with people cutting pieces out of you. I don’t care how small the pieces are.

When we made the decision to try and have a family, I had no idea we’d end up here. What started as a routine pap smear has ended up in me having surgery (minor or not!) to cut abnormal cells out. There is no absolute that all will be well, because with surgery and medical situations, there are always stats. But, all indicators are that I’ll be fine you know, unless I am one of those small percentages that aren’t. I’m not being negative, that’s the reality.

Most people will look at the situation and think it’s not a big deal, that loads of women go through this. But, this is me we are talking about; it is a big deal and I am scared stiff. Those who know me know that I worry about EVERYTHING. I lie awake at night and worry about stuff that probably wouldn’t even cross the minds of most people to worry about. So, you can only guess as to why I’m awake and writing the post, trying in vain to hold back burning tears of frustration and disappointment while the rest of the household sleep soundly. Through the tears I had to stifle a giggle – Funny the comfort one can draw from sleepy snuffles, muffled snores and oblivious farts – Though I won’t say whose doing what as far as the cat, dog and KB go …

Is it weird that over and above the terror of being put to sleep while strangers remove bits, I feel equal parts of being mortified and horrified at having strangers working all up in my junk while I’m unconscious (TMI? Yeah, don’t worry, I feel the same way.)

I feel the need to write this blog post, but I don’t actually want to talk about it, go figure. It’s probably part of my process to deal with how I’m feeling (which is currently varying between bitter disappointment at how this is panning out and pissed off). I’m tired of adulting; today after seeing the doctor, I made calls and more calls, confirmed pre authorisation.and did the hospital admission. I’ve been wearing my big girl panties all damn day. I’m over it – can I just wake up to it being September 18 tomorrow?


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