Facing Monday

Monday, November 10 is surgery day. Bilateral oophorectomy due to the BRIP1 genetic mutation. I keep telling myself not to worry, not to let my mind run ahead into fear, but the truth is that I am scared. I think anyone who is about to go under anesthesia feels the same. There is something deeply vulnerable about placing yourself in someone else’s hands and trusting that everything will go the way it is supposed to.

I am trying to focus on the idea that this is the final step in the long and chaotic road I have been walking all year. At my pre-op appointment, I reviewed every detail with my surgeon, asked my questions, signed all the papers, and made sure everything was set. After that, I went downstairs to the hospital lab for blood work and a urinalysis. There is nothing left to prepare. All I can do now is wait for Monday to arrive.

The waiting is the part that gets inside my head. I feel stressed and nervous, even though I keep trying to steady myself. I hope I will come out of this surgery as well as I have come out of the others. I remind myself that my body has carried me through before. Still, I am afraid of pain and I am afraid that something might go wrong. Surgery never feels casual, even when the doctors call it routine.

I did get one unexpected bit of news today. The doctor’s office called to tell me that my surgery time has changed. Instead of checking in at 5:30 in the morning for a 7:30 procedure, I now need to arrive at 11:00 for surgery at 1:30. In one sense it is a relief. I had been stressing about the very early morning and the scramble to get ready before dawn. Now I have more breathing room. At the same time, it feels strange and a little unsettling because the later time means more hours of waiting. I asked if I could eat or drink and they told me I could have something up to eight hours before surgery. I am planning to wake up at five and drink a protein shake before the cutoff. It gives me at least a small sense of control on a day that otherwise feels out of my hands.

All of this is scary. I can admit that. But I am also hopeful. Hopeful that this is the final step in the hardest year of my life. Hopeful that when I open my eyes in recovery, this chapter will finally be behind me. Hopeful that the next part of my story will feel lighter than everything that came before.

For now, I am taking things hour by hour. I am scared, but I am still moving forward. That has to count for something.