2001-09-06~~2:56 p.m.
Fear...

Tomorrow, arthroscopy. I know the procedure is no big deal. The doctor has done hundreds, maybe thousands of them. Half an hour. That's how long he expects it'll take him. Poke a couple of holes between the tendons. Poke in a scope to check out the damage. Snip. Vacuum. A couple of stitches and on to the next guy. Just another day for him.

I, on the other hand, am terrified. Things could go wrong. That's always a possibility. They can promise nothing. Legalities.

It occurred to me while I was at my pre-op appointment today that I should probably put together sub plans for at least Tuesday just in case I'm not able to go to work. I am reluctant to make contingency plans. They feel like they invite disaster. Yet I know that it is the right thing to do.

So, how many days of plans should I make? If I'm doing Tuesday, should I do Wednesday too? And, if Wednesday, why not Thursday? If I do all of next week, I would presume that at some point I'd be feeling well enough to, at the very least, sit up and pound out more sub plans on the laptop.

Unless I die. I know, it seems like overkill (bad word choice), but I'm just trying to cover my responsibilities. Y'see, I'm actually thinking that if I die, they won't really expect me to have sub plans. If I don't die, though, and I'm just in too much pain to drag my butt to school, they will expect me to have prepared in advance.

Maybe writing the sub plans is a good contingency. Maybe writing them won't curse me to not be ready to go back on Tuesday. Maybe, instead, neglecting to write them will put a worse hex on me.

Oh man. I am pathetic.

It's just that I haven't had such great experience with hospitals in the recent past. For a while, I had a vision of hospitals as these great baby factories. Every time I, or one of my friends, went to one, we came out with smiles and babes in arms.

Hospitals don't hold that luster anymore. They seem dark. Foreboding.

My mom went in, not healthy, but certainly not prepared to die. She came out in a hearse.

I'm afraid. I'm afraid of the possibility, however slight, that I could die. That tomorrow could be the last day of my life and that it would all be becuase I couldn't deal with a little knee pain.

Husband says it's "silly" to worry about death. That it is an irrational fear and I should just get over it. Let go.

No. There will be no letting go. I intend to hold on quite tightly. Thankyouverymuch.

It doesn't seem irrational to me. I mean, I wish I wasn't afraid, but it seems rational and justified to worry.

Besides, no one else around here is going to worry for me. My husband's main concern is finding a good book to read in the waiting room. And tonight, while I am here, stressing and trying to pull together some lesson plans, he'll be playing tennis with my cousin. Wouldn't want to rearrange his schedule to spend more of the possibly last day of my life with me.

I'm being a big baby about this. I'm aware of that. But don't I deserve to be? Don't I deserve to have someone to take care of me? Shouldn't I get a little extra attention for this instead of being made to feel like I'm getting in the way of everyone else's scheduled fun?

If my mom didn't die, she'd worry with me. She'd come up here and make sure I followed the doctor's instructions. She'd take care of me.

Y'know, not a day goes by that it doesn't just SUCK not to have her.

~Alice