Nerves between borders
I’m now two months out from surgery. I’ve completed all of the lab tests and sent in paperwork for travel arrangements. Everything is pretty much set to go. I’m anxiously anticipating making the trip. I’m also looking forward to being done with my current job. But as I realize how close the surgery date is getting, I’ve turned into a ball of nerves, practically jumping out of my skin sometimes. Not for cold feet reasons, but just because the prospect is terrifying and exciting and overdue and terrifying. I’m wondering just how much of a mess I’m going to be on the day (something for my companions to look forward to, I’m sure). The indecision is notably absent, however; I’m committed at this point, and I will not turn back.
I’ve been thinking more about what I’ll do after this—it’s kind of put some aspects of my life on hold. I’m planning to spend some of my time in recovery job hunting. I’ve also been considering going back to school (again), maybe next year, which would most certainly involve a move out of state.
Probably in large part due to the prospect of anesthesia and major surgery, I’ve also been—perhaps morbidly—thinking about mortality and regrets, and things I wish I would have done, or could say, and whether they should be said at all. I suppose the one thing I don’t want to do is to leave someone in doubt of my love for them. I hope at least that I get that across.
