Preparation

My last day of work pre-op was yesterday. Everyone was very sweet. People keep asking me if I'm excited, but I don't know if that's the right word. I'm a whole lot of things--freaked out, scared, resigned, hopeful. The potential of a good outcome excites me, but really, it's hard to be excited at the thought of getting your intestines re-routed and living on liquids for several weeks. A couple of people have given me cards, which I appreciate. I know I will look at them when I'm feeling gross and they will cheer me up somewhat. People are either acting like this is something horrible or just ignoring the significance of it, never the twain shall meet, it seems. It's interesting. I don't want to plan much of anything for the next few weeks because I just don't know how I'm going to feel, and then I have the ankle surgery and CAN'T plan anything.

It has been insanely hot for the Pacific Northwest, in the triple digits at times. It was 105 in my car yesterday on the way home. I did the pre-op phone call with the hospital and my first question was "is it air-conditioned?" They don't want me wearing even my wedding ring to surgery, which I don't like, but I guess I understand their reasoning. I can always have Mr. Salted hold it for me and give it to me when I'm in the room, after the procedure. It's a simple band--no one is going to shake me down for it.

I've been stocking up on everything, and trying to think of everything in advance. I need to order some more vitamin supplements. I went and put in the prescriptions for the post-op drugs in at Walgreen's--I think it was Valium, Dilaudid and Prilosec/omeprazole. I get Valium and Dilaudid because I'm allergic to everything with codeine or synthetic codeine, so I can't do Percocet, Vicodin, Oxycodone, Hydrocodone, Darvocet, etc. I have to wear a scopolamine patch for 24 hours before surgery; that's to offset nausea, apparently.

I decided--given the very real possibility of hair loss--to go back to my natural color, so I'm having that done tomorrow. I'm not thrilled about it, but it will be one less thing to worry about, and I want to see what my hair is going to do before I dye it any more. (I just hate my natural color because I think I look more like my father when I have it, so maybe it will be a good lesson in self-acceptance for me.) I also bought about six bandannas at Walgreen's--99 cents each, what a bargain! (A friend of mine told me to buy some cute scarves and rock it like Rhoda. That's the plan.) There is a lot of baldness and alopecia in my family, and a lot of thin hair. I'm one of the latter.

I have not done real well on this low-carb thing. They told me 40g per day, but good days have been more like 50 or 60 carbs. I *totally* blew it yesterday--that was the only day I really have. Someone brought in a huge bag of peanut M&Ms, and I probably ate thirty of them before I could make myself quit. (I don't know how I'm going to leave that stuff alone--I'm hoping that knowing I will get violently ill is going to do it.) All I wanted for dinner was mashed potatoes, so I had some with crumbled bacon in them. (They were sooooo good.) But I haven't eaten any bread or cake or rice or pasta this whole time, and I'm trying to maintain the low-carby thing for the today and the next three. I have actually lost about five pounds just in the last week and a half. (No wonder I'm so tired.)

I gave some of my extra-big clothes away. That felt good. I'm looking forward to getting rid of more of them.

Processing

I have lived alone and spent enough time alone in my life that I talk out loud to myself and usually answer myself, too. (This is good, because my husband doesn't have the best hearing in the world and some ADD, so he has to be warned in advance if I want a response. He actually said to me once, and was completely serious, "It's only your voice I have a problem hearing." Yeah, you and every other husband, buddy. Bless his heart, my voice IS low, and a lot of my talking to myself and answering myself could be classified as muttering.)

Writing has always been another way I process everything. Growing up entailed learning to hide my writing well--better still, keep it locked up--and wait a day (or three) before I sent someone a letter. (I have written some doozies, and if they were received after junior high, I likely still mean just what I wrote.)

I am in the safest place I've ever been in my life. This is obvious, in part, because of what a mess my home office always is. (When I say my home office, I refer to the small second bedroom of our home, which I share with my husband's scuba gear, the majority of our books and DVDs, some stuffed animals, and various assorted other crap. It's probably about the size of a decent size walk-in closet, so you can say it's cozy.) I don't have to hide anything, because my privacy is respected. My writing isn't locked up; it's everywhere. I am perpetually trying to organize it and revise it, and there are post-its everywhere, not only stuff I want to write about or ideas but music, books, artists, movies, or whatever that I want to remember to check out.

If I wasn't in this place of relative safety, I would not be preparing for this surgery now. I was never ready to do it before. Even though I would like to go under the knife tomorrow and get on with it, part of me is glad for the time I have to prepare. I'm talking about the changes I have to make, and gradually making them.

One of my favorite happy things to do right now is making a list of all the things I want to do after I lose at least most of the weight--sort of a bucket list (though I hesitate to call it that because I've heard mixed reviews of that movie). So far it includes salsa dance lessons, parasailing, skydiving, some kind of martial arts, and going to Disneyland and/or Disney World because (a) I've never been anywhere like that and (b) I'll be able to fit on all the rides!