When I was in 4th grade, my mom made the mistake of letting me brush my own very thick hair. The problem was, it hurt, so I only brushed the top. It looked fine, but the bottom layer developed large knots right at the base of my skull. They couldn’t be untangled, so they had to be cut out. It was the first time my hair had been shorter than my waist.
I cried for two weeks.
In some irrational part of my mind, I am afraid that’s what will happen if my lenses don’t grow back. Which, of course, they won’t. I will have synthetic ones. No more cataracts, but no more lens flexibility, either.
I wrote last week about how my anxiety was rising the closer I got to the first surgery, and that didn’t stop. My coping mechanisms weren’t particularly healthy, but they weren’t awful, either: constant reading – fueling the addiction – and staying up so late every night that by surgery day, I would be too exhausted-induced slappy to care. Any surgery I have has to be first thing in the morning because of the fasting necessary for anesthesia. Blood sugar doesn’t do well with fasting.
I was honestly surprised I didn’t call and cancel. And I wasn’t eating my feelings. Shocker, I know, but I won’t look a gift horse in its empty mouth.
My dad came down, which he said was more for him to make sure I was ok, but even as an independent woman in my late 40s, I am not embarrassed to say that it meant a lot. I guess needing your parents never goes away for some of us.
He’ll come down if I need him for the second one, but he’s 80, and it would be a lot to ask, so I am allowing myself to lean on my chosen family, and one of them will drive me to the next one.
I also brought my “crew” – Herself the Elf, who has been with me for every hospital stay since the very beginning (I think she started out as a Christmas ornament), and Andrew, the Goodnight Moon bunny, who is great when you need to squeeze the crap out of something. I was surprised when the surgery center staff let me keep them, but they understood, and as long as nothing gets in the way of the doctor, it didn’t matter. My hands are far away from my eyes.
Everything went off without a hitch, because of course it did. I have an excellent surgeon, and this is far from a cutting edge procedure. But that doesn’t mean my anxiety is lessening. There is a lower grade of the same kind – just because the first one went well doesn’t mean the second one will. And there is an additional sharp edge as my vision settles and longer-term anxieties take shape.
Right now, all I can do is manage my concerns the best I know how and wait to see what happens.