I am sitting here tonight in a fairly high state of anxiety. Sometimes things fall apart, and this month the thing that has fallen apart is my body. So it’s made for a kind of shitty month.
A couple of weeks ago, I was ruthlessly attacked from within by an organ I was formerly more or less unaware of – my gallbladder. It turns out my gallbladder is a total asshole whose favourite hobby is constructing a gigantic stone that causes me varying amounts of pain almost every time I eat. (In theory, if I avoid foods with fat in them, it shouldn’t give me trouble, but it seems that theory is rubbish.) And while, yes, this newly formed and unpleasant relationship has introduced me to the wonders of morphine, I am now feeling quite a lot of spite and bitterness toward my gallbladder.
But I will have my revenge! I’m cutting the bastard out! With a knife!
Yeah, take that, you unnecessary sadistic asshole organ.
But of course, from here stems my anxiety. I’ve never really had a real surgery before. You know, with knives and blood and the like. And while my research says that as far as surgeries go, this one is supposed to be pretty easy, I’m completely terrified. See, I’m a big wimp. Probably the biggest wimp in the world. I don’t handle pain or blood well.
And I’m supposed to do this tomorrow. Maybe. I find out tomorrow morning. (Complicated situation of trying to skip the wait list by getting an ER appointment, but I could get bumped for someone who comes in with an appendix that needs out or something.) I am coping by swinging back and forth between denial and mental hand-patting.
Ugh. Wish me luck – first, that I can get this over with by getting it done tomorrow and second, that the surgeon doesn’t get confused and take out my liver or pancreas or something instead. (You hear about these things on the internet sometimes.) (Sometimes it’s best to not spend too much time on the internet.)