I am feeling strangely calm at the moment, considering that today is Hysterectomy Day, which will commence with a hospital admission at 10:40 a.m. and culminate in a laparoscopic hysterectomy, performed on one Schmutzie Pickles, at 1:00 p.m. Of course, I just woke up five minutes ago, and it is only 7:15 a.m., and it is nil by mouth until this evening, so there is no coffee to speed me into an anxiety attack about the nature of my reality this morning. If I could chug the usual three cups of my favoured grow-hair-on-your-chest, Schmutzie-issue java juice, my laissez-faire attitude might not be so apparent, but as things stand, I am pretty relaxed right now, if a little tight in the chestal area. I also have the Palinode to hold my hand through this nastiness, which is right fabulous.
My serenity may fly south, though, once the nurse comes at me with a rectal nozzle for the much feared enema, but that is a few hours away yet.
I think I may be displacing my anxiety about uterus removal by keeping a strong focus on the enema. I cannot remember if the nurse at the pre-admission clinic on Friday even mentioned an enema, but I have become convinced that I am scheduled to have one today. You would think that if I was avoiding thinking about a major deal going down with my lady parts, I would choose to focus on a piece of myself situated a little further away than my rectum, like the hangnail on my ring finger or the zits by my mouth which I lovingly grew for the anaesthesiologist, but no, it is the rectum. Any Freudian's out there?
If all goes according to plan, I should be back at home by about 9:00 p.m. tonight. Yes, that's right. TWENTY-ONE HUNDRED HOURS. That seems crazy to me, but I have been assured that with the laparoscopic variety of the various hysterectomy types available, I will be in surgery for three to four hours, in post-op for another three to four hours, and then the Palinode and I will be shipped off into the arms of our fair Abigail, who will hopefully be able to drag my sorry ass up the flight of stairs to our second-story apartment.
I am thinking that I should be focused on that stitch-ripping trek up the stairs more than the enema. My but the mind is a mysterious thing.
Now it is 8:13 a.m., and I am beginning to think that it is time to wash this pre-surgery body down. She's a bit funky.
Before I go to meet my day, though, want to thank each and every one of you who has been kind enough to help me along my way through writing about my situation, linking to my entries about it, sending me e-mails and whatnot, commenting on the entries here, and throwing good thoughts my way. I have felt a hell of a lot of support from you people, and I will carry that with me today when I am taken to surgery. You guys make people look good. Thank you.