So on what should be another typical Monday night, I’m actually sitting at my desk, shaking in my boots and about to puke all over my Garrett’s popcorn.
Why, you ask?
Because Tuesday morning I’m having surgery, getting the ole’ gallbladder removed. I’ve only been in the hospital two times, to birth my children. After hours of blood, sweat and tears during one vaginal delivery with Little Woman and later an emergency c-section with Dude, I was able to take home two beautiful children as my reward, to raise as decent, responsible members of society. Hopefully with minimal time in prison or on the pole. Sigh. So far so good…
But this is different. This is the first time my doctor found something wrong and said ‘we need to operate.’ Crap. Figures, as soon as I turn 41, my body goes to shit. Apparently, gallstones are very common for women of my age (I hate that term), especially woman that have had children. In other words, my time has come.
I’m sorry, I’d like to review the contract because I don’t remember signing up for any of this shit.
So to say I’m ok with all of this would be a lie. To say I’m not worried would be a lie. To say that I haven’t already thought of every possible thing that could go wrong would be a lie. My defense mechanism is sarcasm, so I’ve been joking with my family and facebook friends that if I shall pass away during (highly unlikely) to not cry but hold a huge party in my honor, which would include an open bar, Portillios hot dogs, 80’s music and tasteless stories of my existence. I know on the outside, I present myself as a tough broad with balls of steel and a snarky tongue. But I also know when to get over myself, lower my wall and expose some vulnerability, enough to admit…
I. Am. Scared.
So there ya go, it’s out there. I know I’m probably overreacting and expecting nothing but the worst scenario, but that’s where my brain is. For now. If anything, this is going to give me some cool blog material to write about in the future. See you on the flip side!