If it is surgery that must be done, then it will be surgery. If it means wringing my hands on some shitty plastic chair in a hospital waiting room, then I’ll do that. If it means lying in bed awake in the middle of the night because she’s under observation, then by ghod I’ll lay there awake. If this is what has to happen, then let it happen and let it be over with.
I’m sure that she is more terrified that I am at the moment, for obvious reasons. As much as I think and freak out about this situation, she must be doing it four fold. So, I will be strong. I will take care of everything that I can, and do my best to make this all go smoothly. I want to be there for every second she’s trapped in that not-too-sterile place, subjected to nurses poking at her and doctors trying to cut her up. Then I want to hiss at everyone on staff when I wheel her home to safety. I must find the chutzpah inside of myself to make sure we both get out of this the best that we can.
I really thought that she was okay, and that we were done with all this. Sure, she had some indigestion which wasn’t conformable, but who wouldn’t after a visit to the ER and a pint of olive oil? I was looking forward to putting this all behind us. But the specter wasn’t gone. I sincerely hope that this is the last time that one of us has to look at the other one on a gurney. But for now, we’re going to get through this. The both of us will be tough, and not take shit from any of the doctors, or feel like we’re marginalized to the big business of healthcare. I can do this. This is what must be done.
This situation is very surreal. Please make it stop.
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