Posted by on April 3, 2017

I’m only 45. Barely old enough to qualify for aarp benefits. I’m still in my prime years, my “I totally got this” years, my zero fucks given years. So, when the time comes that I need to go have surgery, I’m all calm and cool, right? 

Sure…. *panic attacks symptoms*

I have been down this road before; appendectomy, several cortisone injections, hell…two c-sections!  This is not my first scalpel rodeo. 

What I don’t understand is this…. why, as I begged and pleaded my doctor for this oophorectomy to get rid of my cyst-filled ovary and finally relieve my side pain, that I’m having overwhelming thoughts of saying goodbye to my family. I’ve never felt this kind of worry before prior to getting the sleep juice before all the sharp instruments. Why now? Why this time? 

If you are thinking I don’t have confidence in my doctor, that’s not it. That’s probably not it. I’m sure that’s not it. 

If you are thinking it’s because I’m not so young anymore, maybe. Things happen during surgery to people of all ages. Maybe because my dad died of septicemia shortly after surgery. Nothing is guaranteed. Especially not the continuation of life. 

This experience has compelled me to write this post to get out these 1000 pound feelings weighting on my head. 

I know it’s much too early, but still…

  • Will my husband find love again? I think he should. He deserves all the happiness and to not be alone. He is quite a catch and beautiful inside and out. I know he will follow his heart. We have something unquestionably special. That will live on forever. 
  • My children are my greatest accomplishments. I’ve never created anything more beautiful and I never will again. No matter what happens, I know in my heart that I have given them abundant love and told them a million times that they are so loved and I’m so proud of them. 
  • I don’t want to be remembered for my careers because that isn’t what made me who I am. I know I wasn’t a great friend to many people. I’ve been dismissive, flaky, selfish, ridiculously narcissistic and spoiled.   At times, I’ve been the worst person possible. I know this. Despite all that ugliness, I hope I can be remembered for being humorous, creative and kind. That last one especially. I hoped I’m remembered as being kind. 
  • Don’t bury me. Don’t give me a funeral. Find the company that turns ashes into trees and plant me where my family and friends can visit me and tell me how they are. I hope to live on giving shade and comfort during the hottest days, be the place where my son proposes to his future spouse, grow my branches so my grandchildren can climb up me and create fairy gardens at my trunk. I can watch over my family as it grows. That is my wish. 

I know…that’s a lot to say considering that this is just routine surgery. I guess I just needed to get that out. If one person reads this, I know my wishes will be carried on, right?




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