It's odd. Im forty one (when did that happen?) and I found myself wondering today when I would be the person I always thought I'd be. You know, put together, wearing cosmetics not all available at Target, organized, groceries in the house, thank yous written, kids with haircuts, thinking of something creative to cook for dinner, and spare birthday gifts stashed in some organized closet. Do I ever get to be that person? Would I even like me as that person? I envy it in others for sure. See, it is impossible to teeter on the precipice too long without drawing back into your natural angst, tendencies and drama. I'm not cherishing the sunshine and ignoring the traffic anymore. The perspective euphoria has lifted.
And I do actually realize that you can't jinx yourself into health issues, but I swear two days before my last appointment I was noticing how great I felt. Fucking, eh. At my Thursday am appointment, my surgeon confirmed I needed surgery and offered to try to book me for later that day or the next. Umm, I have a job, two kids at home and a husband traveling for business. I'm going to need a minute.
So, surgery was last week. I was told not to call it a surgical tweak. Some of my very radiated skin wasn't cooperating. So we cut it out. My surgeon was on his way home after forty-five minutes. My convalescence has been slightly slower. Today is a week and I still have a drain, some pain and trouble lifting not so little Ian. Fighting form tbd.
Tests scattered through the remainder of the month. A bone, a CT, an MRI. Results thereafter. Best case, atta girl, come back in three months. Worst case, worse.
Lend me your strength and keep me in mind. Doubly so, as my gentle, curious and kind baby Miles heads to kindergarten in a few weeks. I'm a proud, teary mess already.
I'll keep you posted.
