My fat girl surgery is this Tuesday. I got a call today from the surgeon's assistant who told me my surgery had been moved up to five a.m. My surgery was originally scheduled for ten a.m. and I knew it was too good to be true. After the assistant called, I ran into the house to tell Adrian. He teased me into almost believing he wouldn't take me that early.
I walked outside to let the dogs out and looked down at my feet. The polish on my feel was chipped and my souls were calloused. I was going into surgery with ugly feet. Not good. I drove down to the pedicure salon and waited an hour to get my toenails cut and polished and my soles buffed until they were soft.
The days before surgery are going by fast. Some days, I wish I was a super hero who had the power to slow down time. Other days, I want time to speed up so I can hurry up and get it over with. I have never had surgery before and the prospect of being "under" and at the mercy of others makes me nervous.
What bothers me the most is the idea of not knowing what will happen after. Will I be hungry? Will I be in pain? How long will it take for the weight to drop off?
Was it Bob Dylan who said that the answer is blowing in the wind? If so, the answer is a hot breeze that makes me sweat. The day before my surgery I have to scrub down with an anti bacterial soap and take off all my jewelery and wear no lotion or deodorant. It is fitting. This is a new me, a new season and a new day.
Three days and eight hours to go. But who's counting?