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The Waiting Game

A week from today it will be over - I will wake up having been 'redesigned' the day before and ready to begin the next stage of recovery.

It's kind of strange to imagine part of me being missing (albeit being reconstructed), to imagine scars where now there is smooth, blemish free skin.  There is a certain sadness about that, as well as a kind of relief that the outward, public appearance will be pretty much unaltered.  Odd really.  The thought of the surgeon "drawing on me" is especially weird, and means of course the last time I see the 'whole' (or 'original') me, I will be covered in black ink.

I am glad to say that as the day draws nearer the anxiety levels are diminishing rather than increasing.  I am sure this is the effect of the hundreds and hundreds of prayers that are being said on my behalf; I wonder if God is getting fed up with hearing my name so many times?!  I still don't relish the thought of anaesthesia but the foreboding has evaporated (even despite a few unhelpful comments!).

My house is nearly tidied, the laundry is almost up to date, the perishable foods will soon be eaten up.  A few tasks remain and then all will be ready for my return.

This waiting is all rather weird - feeling pretty healthy, if rather tired from the last few months, and knowing that I have to feel worse before I feel better again.  I still can't imagine the weakness and stiffness I've been promised; maybe that's a good thing.

I will be glad when it is a week from now and it's behind me; not that I am wishing this week gone, anything but, just that the waiting game is a weird 'place' to be right now.  In the meantime it's back to the odd jobs...

Five days to admission, six to surgery, a week to the redesigned future...


  • Just wanted to thank you for your honesty over the last wee while. It takes far more bravery to be open than to pretend everything is OK.

    I'll be in the chorus of people nagging the almighty.

    Much love.

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