Twas the night before surgery and all I could think is dang it I’m tired! Why can’t I sleep?
That’s about as poetic as I get right now. I’m nervous. So nervous. But I have faith in my surgeon and I have faith in my body. I will make it through this. Hell I survived it when I was dying, I can do this healthy.
I’ve rearranged my room, so I can work from bed, when I return. My cat has expressed her dislike for my suit case and what it means, I have fresh sheets on my bed and I just took out my trash. Now I’m lying here, knowing I have to be up at 4 and I just can’t sleep.
If you’ve ever suffered from anxiety, you understand what I’m going through. My brain is divided into two sides. The side that keeps screaming about all the things that could go wrong, all the things I was supposed to do before this surgery and all the things I will still need to do, when I get out. And then there’s the side that logically laughs and reminds me, my surgeon is the top in his field. He saved me, not only from death, but from sepsis. He’s done this before. Maybe not exactly in this manner or in this order, but this is something he’s done before. I’ll get to lose weight now. I should be excited.
I am excited. I’m actually really excited. So, here’s to the last Fistula bag!
I will win!
I have the most amazing team on my side. Family, friends, doctors, nurses! I am blessed. I love you all!