Tomorrow will be my thyroidectomy, and I guess the idea of being sliced open has me a little sentimental. I guess anytime I am under the knife, I want to make sure my affairs are in order...
In order to understand my thoughts and anxieties of tonight, I kinda need to retrace the events of the past week.
Last Tuesday, I was sitting in a meeting, ready to finish my day. I remember walking into the meeting feeling rough. It seemed that everyone had already gotten sick, and I thought that maybe I had a touch of something. By the end of the meeting, I felt like DEATH. I couldn't turn my head, I had an intense headache, and I was burning up. I couldn't tell if the meeting room was too warm, or if a fever was brewing. I told a coworker what was going on, and she told me I needed to go see a doctor. I got in the car, and headed for the doctor instead of going to class that night.
When I got to the doctor, they took one look at me and thought I had meningitis. They sent me to the ER to be tested for it. Of course, I already knew the test for meningitis: lumbar puncture. And, unfortunately, I had already had that test before. So, I was terrified because I had been there and experienced the pain.
It worked on the SECOND full attempt. Yes, after digging around the first time, they had to go get someone else from the anesthesia department to complete the puncture. I remember breathing eerily slow, with tears streaming down my face. I knew what the needle looked like, and I knew where it was. I knew that one renegade breath could paralyze me. And with my history in a wheelchair, I didn't want to chance any issues with my legs. It was definitely not the best 20 minutes of my life. Add to that a headache that wouldn't quit (even after two shots of demerol, and add-on percocet), and I was a miserable mess.
I was also concerned that I had either given this to Travis, or got it from him. I had alerted him of this on the way over to the hospital.
They told me I would be staying in the hospital for at least 24 hours, and they were going to start the treatment for meningitis while waiting for the test results. They moved me up to the isolation room, and I settled in for the night. I remember being ready for sleep, but being in such an uncomfortable bed. I remember being thankful that I would be recovering from whatever this was, and that at least I had a supportive family, friends, and a pretty good life.
Nausea and a headache continued through the night, but as long as I ate crackers and drank sprite, I seemed fine. I didn't feel miserable, but I certainly didn't feel well. I just wanted to go home, so I could get back to spinning all of my plates in the air.
Well, on Wednesday, it seemed like I waited ALL day to see the doctor. In fact, I did. The doctor wandered into my room around 7pm and asked me if I wanted to go home. The best he could guess was that my body overreacted to a virus. I told him I would rather recuperate in my own bed, so we were headed home. I was thankful to get to see my children and to have my life back again. I packed up my belongings, and mom drove me home.
I got home, hugged my children, and headed upstairs. I sent a message to Travis, asking how his evening was going, and life in general. Then I got the news:
He decided that it wasn't working. And apparently the best time to decide this is when the significant other is in the hospital. That does seem rather convenient.
Ok, I am not being fair. I will back-track a moment to a week before. We had been on a date, and he shared a story of a past girlfriend, and some issues she had. Because he had shared the story, I decided to share a story of my long-ago past. It was 16 years before, and really had nothing to do with my current life. Some people can hear stories about people, and respect all they have been through. Other people hear stories, and probably think about all the ways it might affect THEM. Again, it seems that I find a lot of men that really just worry about themselves.
And to kinda confirm my thoughts of this event, I heard a character on tv say these words the other day: "Scars tell us where we have been. They don't have to dictate where we will go." This is the mindset I have always had, and that experience always shapes our future. It doesn't follow us to constantly make decisions for us--we are ultimately accountable for our growth and development. For some people that either can't think that deeply, or are terrified of having to care for someone, I guess this is too much.
So, on the night of my discharge from the hospital, I also had another plate come crashing down. I was single again.
I decided I was going to enjoy my kids and take a break from a lot of things. I also decided that since I had surgery coming up, and I had suddenly gotten really TIRED, I was going to be withdrawing from classes. I would rather focus on my self, my family, and my job. Everything else can wait until later. So, for the next few days, I took some extra-deep breaths, appreciated how great I really was, and really, really, really appreciated the friends I have.
Tomorrow, I will be put to sleep while they remove my thyroid. Hopefully, while they do this surgery, they won't a) release any abnormal or cancerous cells into my body, or b) damage my vocal nerves. Those are really my only concerns. But those are pretty hefty concerns. Let's face it: my job is all about talking, and I need to be able to talk to perform my daily duties. I also have a stellar karaoke career... And I am a bit worried that things aren't right with my thyroid- there's always the chance, and I would hate to think that my adventures would be cut short.
I would say for the past week, I have been through too much. I would also say that I am redefining with whom I need to spend my time. I was talking with my friend Robin about this very issue. She told me about her awesome Aunt Imagene. She's 87 years-old, and does whatever she wants. She pretty much decided she wasn't going to take care of a man, so she lives her life to the fullest, and enjoys being around men. She just isn't a slave to worrying if a man is going to stick around to be MAN enough. Imagene didn't take any crap, and I don't think I will either. She also apparently had some great chandeliers, which I am looking to purchase sometime soon. Honestly, the idea of living my life to explore the world and make my own decisions sounds intriguing. I already have kids, and I love them. I can raise them and enjoy that, and when they leave the nest, I can leave mine.
Or, I can re-prioritize when I come out of this surgery, and realize that someone man enough will come along. And I can still explore the world. And I will definitely be getting tacky chandeliers, as a heads-up to whatever man is looking at heading my way... ;-)
No comments:
Post a Comment