16 May 2013

Four Week Countdown!

When I first got my surgery date I made a list of all the things I need to do to whip myself into shape.
Here’ what I came up with.

At four weeks I planned to quit coffee. I can’t drink it during surgery/recovery, and I’ve heard reports that the headache from coffee withdrawal is intense.

Also at four weeks – daily exercise. I’m pretty good about it anyway, but I need to make sure that I’m doing something every day. I even got a brand new bike but I can’t find my helmet, so my wingman/stylist/Jim is expressively disapproving if I try to go riding sans chapeau.

But there’s yoga, my pilates video, and my job. Dog walking obviously doesn’t count. Jed, bless his hairy heart, is short limbed.  So I try to walk whenever possible. Why, just today, when I was forced to go to the ‘Wicker Emporium’ I parked my car as far from the store as possible. Given that it was at a suburban big box mall, it was about 20 kilometres.

At three weeks, I’ve planned to reacquaint myself with Belleruth Naparstek, and practice daily guided meditations.  I truly believe that it is because of Belleruth, that I woke up calmly from my second surgery.  Bellerruth helps me understand that I’m safe surrendering myself to someone else’s control, and to trust my body. (And my magical friends and allies)

At two weeks I plan to quit drinking.  I’m not a total booze-hound, but I really like a glass of wine with dinner, and I’m sad when I can’t have it.

At one week, I don’t know what’s gong to happen. I might have a nervous breakdown. But I’ll worry about that later.  (My toenails are a priority)

So today I woke up and looked into Jed’s droopy bloodshot eyes. My first thought was ‘Four weeks today!’ I thought of my giant to do list that includes making soup, buying loose pants,  a shower chair, and a whole bunch of other stuff. My second thought was, ‘I really need a coffee.’

 I wish I could say that this ended well.  I wish I could stay that I had steely resolve. But I didn’t have any resolve. I had a coffee. And it was delicious.  


13 May 2013


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.