Learning to deal ...

The countdown has started ... 10 days to go.  In my usual way, I bury myself in anything and everything I can to avoid worrying about things.  In 10 days, I will be under the surgeon's knife. 

Last week I coaxed myself to begin planning, starting with the logistics of getting to and from the hospital.  Getting there was simple enough.  I have a car ... umm, no!  I need to get the car back home.  Okay, so I will take a cab.  Yes that works. 

Now, I need to get back home.  Simple enough, I cab it home ... umm, no!  I won't be able to lift more than a few pounds after surgery.  Well, that's okay,  I will only wear the hospital fashion while in hospital so I can put my toothbrush and a couple changes of underwear in my purse.  Purchase a few mini-sized shampoo and toothpaste and leave them behind ... sound like a good plant ... NOT!  The hospital will not discharge to a cab if I am alone.

Family, YES ... but my sister works and my two brothers are retired but drive crossovers; climbing into a vehicle will not be an option. 

I finally come up with the plan that on my discharge day, my youngest son would meet me at the hospital in a cab and we will come home together. 

I fell asleep with a lump in my throat.

I shared my plan with my colleagues at work and the offers started pouring in.  It was heartwarming but I knew that I would be pulling them away from work and felt uncomfortable with the prospect.   I was also uncomfortable with the knowledge that I will need a little more than just a ride home.  That evening, I spoke with my sister and she would have none of that.  She will take the day off. 

Nuts and bolts of the situation are now matched and tightened, so why is this all still irritating me?  There is the whole piece about recuperating.   Shut down.  Can't go there.

Ten days to go.  This will be my first surgery since Bill died.  He has always been my constant while recuperating.  Ah! ... I want Bill as my go to person.  I want his face to be the first I see when I finally can focus after the anesthetic wears off.  I want Bill to lie next to me and make me feel safe.

Back to one day at a time, remembering to breathe and learning to deal with widowhood and all it brings.