Keener

Back in March I told my reconstructive surgeon  that I was really scared.

‘Really?’ he seemed genuinely surprised. ‘There’s no need to be scared now.  A week before maybe, but not now.’

So I obediently held off for a while. But when I woke up this morning the first thing I felt was fear. I was seized with panic.  To be honest, it was a moment I’ve been waiting for, so I wasn’t surprised.

A surgery of this significance is not something that’s easy to swallow, even if one thinks it’s the right thing to do. I’ve started processing the nuts and bolts of the operation now, the smell of the anesthetic, the full day on an operating table, the scalpels, the big belly scar,  (to add to my enviable collection), the drainage tubes, the IV, the pain,  the painkillers, the eyes behind the masks.

People have occasionally said how lucky I was to be having this operation. A boob job and a tummy tuck! What could be better than that?  Well I’ll tell you what could be better than that! Doing a year of sit-ups and wearing a push up bra would be better.  Climbing a sheer cliff in the scorching heat would be better! Joining the military and crawling through mud in the middle of a rainstorm surrounded by hungry alligators would be better. And never having had canceritis would be the best thing of all.

So it’s no wonder that I'm freaked. I’ve been a cool cucumber for quite a long time and it was mostly an act. I held off on being scard for as long as possible, but I couldn’t hold off till the week before surgery. And as I’m starting the panic at this very second, it marks one of the few times where I’ve actually managed to do something so far in advance.

I'm planning on being the best patient, ever. My plans are in the works.