It's the Final Countdowwwwwwwn!!!

BEST. COMMERCIAL. EVER.

His face!  Hahahaha!!!!  Priceless.

So yeah, my surgery is one week from today.  Am I nervous?  Yeah.  Even more so than two weeks ago, when I was supposed to have my surgery.  Sheesh Loueesh.  I've had two more weeks to get even more nervous and anxious and sleepless.  The suspense is KILLING me!!  I know it will be okay.  I do.  I think most of my anxiety is centered around getting everything done that I need to before leaving town, and in making sure Ben remembers all of the appointments and things to which he has to take the kids in my absence.  And you know, driving in downtown Portland, and figuring out the trolley system for Mom so that she doesn't have to drive in downtown Portland when she goes back and forth from the apartment where we'll stay a l'hopital.  Whether I'll be able to set up wifi in the apartment.  Stupid crap like that.

When I said that I don't worry so much about the little crap, that was mainly true.  I mean, I'm still me, right?  So I get anxious about stuff.  But I'm maybe not as edgy as I used to be.  Which might be because I'm on really good meds.....  Haha!

And yes, I've double and triple-checked to make sure this thing is really going down.  I got the call from l'hopital to do all the pre-check-in stuff. I can't remember half the instructions they gave me. Am I supposed to avoid deodorant starting the day before surgery?  Two days before?  How many days before am I supposed to stop shaving my armpits?  It's a little foggy.  They really should send e-mails with this stuff.  I mean, hi, they deal with chemo-brained patients all the time; you would think they'd put all of this in writing!  I do remember her telling me that I have to shower with anti-bacterial soap the night before surgery, and then shower again with the anti-bacterial the morning of surgery, that I have to wear freshly laundered jammies, sleep in freshly laundered sheets, and change into freshly laundered clothes to arrive a l'hopital....  The really interesting stuff is the stuff I remember.

Let's hope that my surgeon has forgiven Ben for swearing at her; I'd really hate to have her leave a rusty nail in my gut as retribution.  Haha!  Naw, I'm good.  In case you missed it, my ma is going with me to Portland, and Ben is going to stay here with the ninos and work from home.  I think it will be fun.  We'll have to watch a whole bunch of British chick lit - we will have come full circle from when I was a Couch Person during chemo and we watched as many British miniseries and shows as we could.  We'll probably still giggle quite a lot.  Maybe even more so, because I'll have those huge painkillers in my system.  Blood grenades, here I come!

I'm going to have a LOT of downtime in the next month or so, so you'll probably hear more from me than you ever cared to.  And the writing will be.... interesting.  I remember trying to write thank-you notes after my mastectomy, and then I just got too tired to make sure people actually received said thank-you notes.  So maybe a month later, I pulled the pile out so that I could rip open the envelopes and add more thank-yous to each person - these people just kept helping and helping and helping, and I didn't want them to think I didn't appreciate all the different stuff they did, right?  So I ripped open these envelopes, and I was like, "Who WROTE these???"  The handwriting was unintelligible!  And the sentences meandered all over the place.  I mean, it was like, "ThankyousomuchforhelpmecanceryardbabysitbloodgrenadeshahabestpersonEVERmusthavemetin
heavensoulsisterseverdowithoutyou?"

Good times.

Am I nervous about the painkillers?  Yep.  They're hard to get off of.  I think it's harder emotionally than physically to get off of them.  Truly.  It terrifies me.

Am I looking forward to staying "in hospital," as the Brits would say?  YES!!  I freakin' love l'hopital.  I feel so safe there.  Truly.  Hospitals have helped me out many, many times.  I love having someone to take care of me.  I love drifting in and out of sleep.  I love the reassurance of an IV bag. Love the catheter.  DON'T love the food.  But that's okay.  I'll have my mom smuggle me in some good grub.

Kay, it's late, and I'm rambling, so I'll say hasta.  You might hear from me again.  If not, I'll see you on the other side!  I'll be sure to keep you abreast of any further developments.  Haha!  That never gets old...