I usually start a new blog post with a strong sense of what I want to say and how. The words and their tone typically come to me as naturally as breathing. And I’m guilty of not proofreading most posts beyond running spellcheck because of my eagerness to connect with people through my writing.

Right now, though, I’m at a loss. This week, I have sat down to write a new post several times and although I have many things to say, the words remain a jumble. But I don’t want to wait any longer to post given the looming deadline of my surgery even if what I write isn’t the best reading experience.

Day by day, I’m learning that for me, the difference between happy anticipation and anxiety aren’t as large as I would have thought. There’s a countdown clock ticking in my mind that keeps me from sleeping at night and from focusing to the extent I would like during the day. I felt this anticipation before moving apartments and going to St. Martin with friends. There’s an eagerness to get to the date circled on the calendar–just no reward, really, once it arrives.

All too often now, I feel ill in a way that I’m not sure if physical, emotional or both. The heartburn, caused my the tumor squeezing my pancreas out of position, is real, but is the headache? Why am I coughing still?* Why do I feel so exhausted even when I do sleep? Why can’t I think straight?

Sometimes I chide myself for making too big a fuss over the surgery. But then I think that maybe I haven’t done enough to plan for the possible outcomes.

There were times during my father‘s last year of life when I looked back and realized how easy things had been–times I had thought were challenging in the moment were nothing like the scary present. And that’s what is on my mind right now: what if this is the easy time and life after surgery is worse, not better? What if this is my easy time?

*my general practitioner listened to my lungs on Monday. They’re clear.

By the way, the title refers to a Moby song that is stuck on repeat in my head these days.