On The Night Before Surgery

     I'd rather be doing anything other than having surgery tomorrow. Anything. I'm sure many people get nervous, lose sleep, change their minds. It's not that I am unprepared. I've written an Advanced Directive - basically saying,  "If you don't put the plug in, then you won't have to pull it out." (Clearly, brain dead for me is dead. Besides I don't want DD and DS to have to think or decide or worry or fight about when to do it - pull the plug. Brain dead is dead. Nice and simple for them and for me).

     While I'm not worried about dying - actually the description I received of the recovery sounds worse - I am realistic, practical and a planner. There's a list of all the accounts I can think of and the locations of all the money (ha-ha) that I have hidden under virtual mattresses.   I've packed a bag with things to read, listen to and do. I've chosen a chair and an ottoman covered and positioned it. I've lined up friends and family for help and support and of course sent them each others' phone numbers in texts and emails. I've attempted to get approval for an out-of-network physical therapist (don't get me started on that exercise), so I could stay with a friend who lives out of state.  

       I've prepared for just about every thing that I possibly could. Those of you who know me well, know. This is who I am. This is what I do. Prepare. Make lists. Plan. It helps...me. So image my - what shall I say - surprise? when the pre-opt nurse called and in the midst of that conversation gave me push back about which arm I was to have the procedure performed? She asked and I answered "left." She corrected " you mean right."   I said "no" - drawing it out as my brain caught up with the implications and responded to the nurse's...was that...arrogance? I mean shouldn't I know which arm? Wasn't I the one counting the blessing that at least it wasn't my right shoulder, my dominant side? Why did she think that she, the paper or anyone else knew better than me?  This is what I thought. What came out of my mouth was one word repeated multiple times in ever increasing volume.  Left, LEFT!! LEFT!!! LEFT!!!!

   It was a calm freakout only to be matched by the controlled calm of the nurse requesting that I calm down No I'm due this freakout if I never get another!  She stated that she was making corrections to the chart and this might have been her attempt at humor that she was writing in the chart left the total number of times I had said it.  I'm sure I screamed it. She continued by telling me that I would be asked several times which shoulder once I arrived at the hospital; that my arm would be marked and pleased don't mark the arm myself.  What?  It's my arm. I'll mark it if I want, excuse me, seems I need to . Okay, okay I'll try not to be difficult. But if I must comply, I'll write on the other arm something clever that I heard from a friend "if you're reading this, you're on the wrong side!"