I have some photos of me getting my Nightingale nomination, too. That was a lot of fun, and deeply cool.
We had a blizzard this week. It's a technical term, blizzard, something about speed of the wind and amount of snow. We got 26 inches of it piled onto our deck.
Sorry I don't write much. It's weird to have other people be aware of your own mental dialogue. Especially when you know full well there's not a damn interesting thing going on in your head. But this was the plan all along...to blog this in case other people wanted to know what's goin on. And possibly for other adults considering this surgery.
Been optimistic and looking forward to surgery this week. Optimism is cool. I can see why people like it. Trying not to be too distracted by the fact that I have almost no new work projects going on. And I'm still transitioning finer points of stuff only I do in clinic over to my nurse partners in crime. They're going to be fine. It is all going to be fine.
I work with really good people.
I have to remember that the time, once surgery is done, will actually fly by. And I'll be back before before they know it. And being home, it's not like I'll feel like I've had any sort of "vacation." I've taken a few things home from my desk, but it's still mine and I'm coming back.
I say all that now, with a lot less need to point out "...unless they put rebar through my myocardium." Because she won't. And my squooshy lung fields are going to be fine, too. Probably she'll crack some ribs. I can hope that won't happen. But ...I've got a pretty high tolerance for pain and a pretty low desire for narcotics. I didn't like them when I chopped my left fingertip off, and I didn't like them when I picked the fight with the Pontiac. I'm ornery. If I didn't come back to work without something to grouse about, people would wonder what's wrong with me.
Almost everything is done. Haven't paid the catsitter yet, but I've booked her. Haven't called to get the FMLA paperwork in my hands yet, because they want to give me that after I leave. But it shouldn't be difficult for me to get that into my hands next week.
Anyway. I'm rolling with my mother planning menus. I appreciate that she wants to cook. Because I won't want to. It gives her control when she has none. She has spoken to me in relatively short conversations on Sundays. I think she's afraid she's going to let on how hard this is on her. She's retired as of January 1 this year. And instead of bounding into her new lease on life, I think she's home, paralyzed with worry, sometimes. I hope I'm wrong. Because I really hate to think about that.
Dad is fine. He worries about my car in blizzards, because that's what fathers worry about and this worry reassures their daughters that things are normal in the world. My in laws have been wonderful, too. It's nice to have a cheering section.
Mark has been really good with putting up with me. My mood swings and worries about the surgery (because there are no mood swings or worries about anything else) in the past few weeks have been mostly nonverbal. (Okay there were a few days I went completely postal in there over some ....scheduling issues regarding Chase, but that was never directed at him.) (Or Chase.) Mark goes off and does his own thing when I avoid him, and he stays when I sit with him. He doesn't ask why. Which I appreciate.