Waiting

I'm due to have an operation in a couple of days. Its not really a particularly dangerous operation per se, but it is pretty serious. And its on my head which makes it seem more scary. And in general I'm not all that over-awed with the idea of being operated on. Of being knocked out. Of losing control and having no say in what happens to me. At the possibility of things going wrong. At the form I've signed allowing them to do whatever they need to once they start. Its explorative surgery. The boundaries arn't really defined. They'll decide what needs doing once they get in. But I don't have a choice. I have to go through with it because its too risky not to. Because the dangers associated with NOT having the surgery are life-threatening. Its the surgery or nothing. There's no drugs that could fix things. No other option.

But my husband dreamt I was going to die. He has whole churches in Nigeria praying to god to save me. He tried to talk the surgeon into operating with me awake. He's spent a year trying to convince me not to have the operation. My dad agrees. He doesn't think my disease exists because he can't find it on the internet. That the doctors are making it up. My mum thinks I should have the operation but can't sleep at night because they've freaked her out. She has churches in England and Ireland praying for me.

I know too much. I'm a biochemist. I've done research. I know what the doctors arn't telling me. I know why the five doctors I've seen over the past 18 months are all telling me to have the surgery as soon as possible. So I agreed. Signed the forms. It going ahead. But I'm scared. The logical sciency bit of me is saying that its the right choice. That the surgery is low risk. That I'll be fine. The remaining overdramatic, overimaginative majority of me is terrified. I want to run and hide. Stick my head in the sand and wait for it all to go away. Pretend that everything is fine. Pretend that its happening to someone else. Think happy thoughts and wish it away. I'm not the type of person that can shrug off someone telling me they think I'm going to die. I'm too superstitious. I think too much. I'm caught halfway between attempting complete denial (don't think/talk about it and everything'll be fine) and lying awake all night because its the only thing on my mind. I want to talk to all the people that I care about. Resolve outstanding issues just in case I don't get another chance. To write letters for my children to say the things I'd like to say to them as grown-ups. But I can't. That feels like a self-fulfilling prophecy. That if I allow myself to act as though it might go wrong then its more likely to. Not very scientific thinking, but then I've never been good at molding myself to fit other peoples labels and beliefs. So I wait. Permanently conscious of the slow ticking of seconds. Only two more days to go.