Tomorrow morning I will walk to the subway, hoping no one jostles me and hoping that I don’t see anyone I know. I will wish for a cloak of invisibility.
My worst nightmare, only for tomorrow, is getting mugged. I’m worried about muggings not because that sort of thing is common in Williamsburg (not at all), but because tomorrow, for one day only, I will be carrying a large orange jug full of twenty-four hours’ worth of my own urine with me like some kind of psycho.
I still have to figure out how to actually carry the filled jug. Using a brown paper shopping, like when I picked it up, will not be an option. Too heavy (sorry. So gross.). I suppose one of my many drawstring bags from past events will have to be sacrificed for the cause, to be unceremoniously disposed of later when the job is done.
Otherwise, it’s status quo around here. Things are dull. I wouldn’t say “normal” because there’s nothing normal about this type of anticipation. But not much is happening.
I have a follow-up appointment Thursday regarding my finger. It hurts each morning when I first wake up, but improves throughout the course of the day. My hope is that the doctor pronounces this as expected because I really don’t want to start another course of antibiotics.
Tomorrow I should also hear the results of my second round of hormone-focused blood work. Round one was “mostly normal?” Yeah, the question mark is the sound of Dr. E’s voice each time we discuss the findings. Only my cortisol was slightly off–just slightly enough that I had to have a three or four more vials of blood drawn yesterday.
Just a reminder: the results of the blood work won’t provide a diagnosis, only a treatment plan as far as the need to replace hormones (or not).
On Friday, I am scheduled to have my pre-op physical. The hospital told me to expect it to take up to two hours so I’m thinking of using a vacation day for that plus a trip to the DMV. Might as well stack the drudgery, right?
My drivers’ license expires on my birthday and NYS now requires a fresh vision test either at the DMV or at a participating optometrist. Between that, my desire for a new license photo, the need to update my address (oops, I’m late) and the fact that I’ll be recovering from surgery when it expires, now seems like the time to do it.
With one exception, I feel like I am managing my new reality a bit better since getting the relative certainty of a surgery date. Having the date in mind, has given me a clear timeline of what needs to get done and by what day.
But I can’t sleep much at night and that’s a drag. My mind won’t rest, wondering about what it will all be like: the incisions, that lousy feeling of being awakened from general anesthesia when all you want to do is rest, the pain, the diagnosis and what comes next. One of my doctors prescribed Klonopin and while I filled it, I haven’t leaned on it much so far. But perhaps now is the time.
OneChicklette 