The time is 12:11. I cannot sleep. The reason, I believe, is two-fold. One, it is fricking hot in my house. The dogs both pant like mad under the bed, and unless I'm exhausted, it's just an exercise in annoyance. Two, and perhaps the more truthful reason I've laid in bed for the last hour, stared at the ceiling, tossed and turned, counted sheep (what else?) and let rather loud, long sighs escape from my mouth is that I'm nervous. You see, Monday, I go into surgery.
Now, I'm a very healthy person. I mean, I haven't always eaten healthy, and I don't always exercise the way I'm supposed to, but I'm rarely ill. I only get one or two bad colds a year, which is pretty darn good, considering my child comes home from day care every day covered in goodness knows what kind of germs, and my husband seems to be a walking case of tonsillitis. I have never broken a bone. I've never had to stay overnight in a hospital for a reason other than having completed the cycle of growing a small, screaming human and pushing said screaming human out of somewhere the sun don't shine. Hell, I haven't even had stitches since I was two and fell off a table. But in four days, I will be willingly going into a hospital, going under general anesthetic, getting an IV (!!!), getting cut open, and having a piece of ME removed. True, it's not a good piece. It's a really crappy piece, a hanger-on, something that MUST go, but it's still a piece of ME.
And here's the other kicker. I won't know exactly what kind of surgery I'm getting until I wake up from it. See, in case I haven't mentioned, my cyst is a whopping ten centimetres in diametre. Or it was at its largest. It's since shrunk by about a centimetre and is 9.1 in diametre now, but come on! That's a SWATCH!!! Only it's a 3-D swatch, so it's like a 10-cm diametre swatch knitted in the round! And they don't know exactly what it is. We know almost definitively that it is not a tumor. Tumors don't shrink, for one thing, and they're usually not filled with fluid, for another. But they still may need to take the thing whole, and when they get in there with a laproscopy (medical talk for a periscope-esque tube that is inserted into the affected area through which non-invasive surgery can be done), if the cyst does need to come out whole, they'll cut me open, remove said cyst, and then staple and stitch me up.
I'm a planner, and this idea that I won't find out if it's a day surgery versus a three-night stay surgery is rather...terrifying. And generally speaking, I'm a little bossy, and not having control of what's going to happen is also terrifying. So I'm awake, consoling myself with some cherries, debating putting a movie on and knitting, and generally not happy.
I just have to keep reminding myself, this is for our family's future. This is so we can have another baby. This is to achieve that goal. A quick surgery is surely better than another two years of trying, right? RIGHT?! Beuler?