October 23, 2012

The night before my first surgery.

I was terrified.  So nervous.

I had been through a lot in my life- casts, hospital stays, almost surgeries, but never an actual surgery.

I had been spiraling down so many scenarios of what could go wrong.

Actually, it was one fear-based fantasy that continued to play over and over again in my mind.

Something would happen with the anesthetic, and I wouldn't wake up.  I would be in a suspended state for years, and then wake up, and everything would be different.  I wouldn't feel like I was older, but I would be, and everyone else would be too.

Of course I was also afraid I'd die on the table, I'd have complications and be disabled, or the most likely, one little slip, and my vocal chords would be damaged.

Or that nightmare about being immobilized by anesthetic, but still hearing and feeling everything.

Lots of fear.  All about the time that I wouldn't have control over.  Time that I wouldn't be conscious.  Where would I go?  Would I come back?

Both of my parents came out for the surgery, and, well, the last time they met up with me, our dysfunctional dynamic came back.  And I didn't want that to happen this time.  I found the courage to bring it up to both of them.  That this is about me, and not about them, and the moment they make it about them is the moment I ask them to go home.

To be honest, I worried most about my father.  I was so surprised he was coming.  Me and my father never see eye to eye, and I already knew he didn't like the Portland area, so...

But he came.  And give credit where credit is due.

they were staying in a hotel, so they left for the night, and it was just Steve and me.  Lots of holding, close, close.  I am not a big fan of spooning, I tend to have trouble with that much confining contact for more than a few seconds.  But we held on for awhile.

I think I slept a bit.  Just a bit.