... I bequeath Fatman to Mickey Rose Insley and apologise in advance for the increase in her monthly food bill.
I go under the knife the day after tomorrow and I'm now starting to properly brick it. Although, after their last minute cancellation last time, perhaps I shouldn't waste the energy. Fact is though, I am terrified of general anaesthetic. And that's despite the fact that this is my seventh operation, and I really should be well used to it by now.
It's not the pain I'm scared of, or what they'll find. I can handle that. Pain is endurable. And it tends to keep you conscious. In my experience with chronic and agonising pain - from appendicitis gall bladder disease and endometriosis - is that there's something about pain that eventually crystallises all of your worries, fears, experiences and day to day blah. Everything comes down to one single thing: that moment when the pain will stop. That's it. Nothing else matters. Your world becomes very small and very focused. And you breathe in and out because you have to. And you wait. For me, eventually, with the first two illnesses, it stopped. I now have to deal with it every couple of weeks but it's not for a long time each time, not when it's compared to the horror some people endure.
So pain, I can do. I've had a lot of practise.
It's the lack of control I have a problem with. The moment when they fit the cannula and then pump unknown substances into my arm. That's the moment I hate. Because I don't know who these people are. I don't know how good they are at their job. I don't know whether they're distracted or not on the case today. I don't know what they're pumping into me and I don't know, basically, whether I'll wake up.
I know the chances are extremely high that I will. But weird stuff does happen and I don't know that this won't be the last moment I'm ever aware of. Counting down from 10 with that stuff rushing into my veins, turning them cold.
This is why I'm scared.