Today’s the day. Surgery. This kidney stone, after four weeks of doing everything it could to bring me nothing but pain and ruination, will be blasted to smithereens. Well, okay, not really – it’s more of a catch and release type program, but my sentiments still aligns more with the former than the latter.
If only I could so easily deal with this anxiety.
I don’t do well with anesthesia. The first time I ever went under, way back in college for my wisdom teeth, my ears felt like they were going to explode from immense pressure, I couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t move to tell any of the doctors in the room. I remember frantically darting my eyes from person to person, trying to alert them to the fact that something was wrong, but no one noticed. Next thing I knew, I was waking up. The next few times I needed anesthesia, maybe three or four times, I’ve panicked. I’m afraid the same thing will happen. Despite what some people tell me, just because it hasn’t happened since doesn’t mean it won’t. And so I’m worried. And panicked. And have I mentioned worried? More worried, even, than excited about no longer having this constant pain.
I report to the hospital at 2:00p. My surgery is at 3:30p. I’m hoping the anesthesiologist brings extra happy pills, cause I’m going to need one or two of them. Because no matter what time it says on the clock, it’s going to feel like high noon.