I wasn’t thrilled when I got the call from the hospital yesterday telling me I should arrive for surgery at 12. That’s 12 noon. With nothing to eat or drink since midnight the night before. The nurse who called told me that if I wanted, I could get up before five and have some dry toast and black coffee. I elected to sleep in.
This has made me think about how entitled I feel when it comes to my three meals a day. How abnormal is that? I was actually starting to get irritated because I wouldn’t be able to eat this morning. In reality, this brief moment of being a tiny bit hungry is good for me.
Praise be to God who has provided so bountifully for me all my life! May he be with me today, and may he guide my doctor as he works on me.
My awesome Aunt Sharon is coming down to stay with the kids.
I have almost crossed off everything on my “to do before surgery” list.
I have slathered On Guard (diluted with fractionated coconut oil in a roller bottle) all over my neck area multiple times a day in an effort to wipe out any unfriendly germs living in the area to be operated on.
I am defying my NPO order by sipping on a tiny splash of water right now.
See you on the flip side.
I still have not started weaning Eleanor. Oy. I dread the tears, the sadness. Must start tonight.
I am combating “irrational” anxiety/irritability today. Using my oils. Peaceful Child, Clary Sage. They are helping. I don’t know why this happens every time I approach an appointment or the due date for test results—although from reading other people’s stories, it is pretty normal (although I hate to think of feeling like this for the next four days). Still, I want to have better control of my emotions. Especially since I am working on Silas so much to help him control his emotions. He is very volatile these days. I think he’s turning into a teenager. Double Oy.
I emailed my childbirth class student about our class that is to start on Tuesday night and gave her a heads-up that I will probably be having surgery in the next few weeks.
For some reason Elliot has cut a chunk out of the front of his hair. Now that he’s seven. Isn’t that kind of thing usually reserved for toddlers? (Don’t get any ideas, Eleanor!) I never know what that child is going to do. Time for summer buzz cuts.
Ok, I am going to say this, because I think it will help me to get it out. Here are the two things I feel like I cannot deal with: 1—having really bad cancer—anaplastic, or bad metastases—where it looks like I won’t live long. I feel like I cannot leave my children motherless. And 2—having my whole thyroid taken out and finding out that there was no cancer in it after all, and I would be dependent upon a daily medication for the rest of my life for nothing. Either one of those situations would make me FURIOUS. I feel like anything else is manageable. Even metastatic cancer that is controllable for the next few years, I think I could deal with. May God have mercy on me and protect me from those “worst-case” scenarios.