These are the thoughts I try not to have, but end up having more often than I would like...
A few nights ago, in the bathtub: "Where will I be in less than three weeks from now?" [It's now two weeks and one day until my surgery.]
Last night, at DH's colleague's house for dinner: "Will they say that it was just two weeks ago that they saw me, and how good I looked, how happy?"
In the car on the way to Costco: "I should make a list for Dude of people who should be at my memorial service, no matter what."
No one wants to read me say all this. But it is the case. Some of the time, I really don't have fear about the surgery. Other times, I have panic attacks, like on the bus last week, and I'd wished I had my Ativan but did not, so I did all I could not to have my nervous breakdown, right there, on the #8, right in Chinatown.
I look at music lyrics and quotes and lines of poetry like scriptures, to describe the fucked-up way all this is sacred. I'm not sure how to make anyone understand that.