The Waiting Games (Anxiety's Version)

The countdown is on: one week. My anxiety increases in direct proportion to the clocks decent to surgery day.

I have zero focus and limited cognitive ability to power through my day. Not from a lack of motivation, but because of the overpowering weight of anxiety. I am frozen in a countdown spiral. How many more days? What can I pack? When do I shower with the lovely hibiclense? Lists scroll through my head like a movie’s ending credits, as if a list of every detail will help squash the heart attack bubbling over in my chest. I want it to be here. I want to get this surgery over with.

Wednesday I had my pre-op appointment at the hospital. The same place I have been so many times before and the location where Operation: Evict the Implants will happen next Friday at 7:30am.

As I pulled into the parking lot, my insides froze and my stomach lurched. One foot in front of another, I made it to the front door with a large sign hovering above: SURGERY

Per usual when living in Florida, the characters people are fantastic distractions. The blood draw and EKG went quick and without any preparation from the CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant). Typically, hospital staff describes each step of a procedure, no matter how small. “Tight tug here…cold wipe there”. Nope, not my gal. My PTSD and anxiety had zero time to panic because her nonstop chatter kept me completely distracted and caught off guard.

“…so then I went to my baby’s daycare and found the kid beating up my child. [...] I have told a patient to stop whining about getting hemorrhoids out, at least you aren’t getting your breasts removed, am I right? [...] Your kids ready for Halloween?”

I smiled and told her I am just trying to get to next week, not Halloween. She finished wrapping my arm with a speed indicating she has done it a thousand times before. I thanked her and told her I hoped her twins had a wonderful Halloween.

One more appointment stands between myself and surgery day: the marking appointment, scheduled for next Wednesday morning. Let the anxiety train continue rumbling down its tracks.

Time remains frozen. I stay utterly distracted and spinning through my home. I will start and stop a million different projects - so many drawers half organized, so many lists in my Notes app.

My therapist reminded me to carry all parts of me: the part that wants to cancel, the part that is doubting if I will be able to do this AND the part of me that knows I will get through this. She also said most people try to avoid going back through a traumatic experience and yet, here I am staring it down.

The trauma that rises up is the fear that something will go wrong - again, and that I will be stuck in the hospital over and over again. When friends mention events in October, my brain says, “Nope. You won’t make it. You will be sick.” Nothing points to that scenario, but my trauma brain continues to play it on a loop.

Then my therapist (again) gently reminds me of the chances of something happening AND if something does happen, I will make it through just like I have time and time again in life. But seriously - no more hard things, okay.

Since I don’t have a magic wand to fast forward time to next week, I will sit in this frozen state of the both/and of all the parts of me - the scared shitless part, the sad part, the angry part, and the empowered part. Empowerment is my north star, knowing that I will *hopefully* be free from the constant discomfort and pain the implants cause. Reclaiming my body…again.

Until next Friday, you can find me grumpy on the beautiful beach taking ‘stupid mental health walks’ or scrolling for funny TikToks to send friends.

Feel free to send all funny TikToks, GIFs, shows, jazz hands, prayers, and positive thoughts as I ride out this final week.