In exactly two weeks, I will hopefully be exiting surgery and on my way to recovery, if said surgery starts on time. I’ll be groggy with an IV in my arm and I’ll be missing part of my breasts.

Yeah, it’s that kind of surgery.

At the recommendation of my spine/pain management doctor and my physical therapist, I’m having breast reduction surgery done to help with the back/shoulder pain I’ve been in for years. The recommendation came after nearly a year of physical and massage therapy, muscle injections and spinal injections.

Not to mention a drug habit that has steadily increased from a couple of Darvocets a day to six Percocets, two Celebrex, four Neurontins and two Robaxins daily. I passed Jim Morrison on my way out.

I vacillate between being okay with it to having moments of crushing fear thinking I’ll bleed to death on the operating table. A bit over-the-top, I know, but this will be the first big surgery I’ve ever had. In 1998, I had gall bladder surgery, but it was done laparoscopically and the whole thing took an hour. I was home that night eating Popsicles and, today, you can barely see the scars. This time, they are cutting on me, sewing me back up and parking me in a hospital room for a night. With tubes coming out of each breast. *shudders*

I’ve talked to four women personally who have had this done and visited many online forums and blogs. No one I have talked to or read about has regretted their decision. For many, like me, it ended years of pain and suffering due to excessively weight on their shoulders.

That’s all good and great. But, it’s my breasts that are being cut on. That hits you at a personal level. Way down deep in your gut. And, although I harbor no delusions of losing my staggering affect on men because of this (due to the fact I have NO staggering affect men at this point), it still gets emotional. I’ve cried over it. Cried over something that is causing me pain and continued muscle deterioration. I’m blaming the drugs.

Outside of the physical and emotional implications, I’ll be gone from work for a week, so I’ve been going hair on fire at work to get projects in order or done.

My Mom offered to come stay for that week and that has unforeseen affects as well. While we have a second bedroom and bathroom, they were never actually set up for someone(s) to come and stay for more than a night. So, Jim and I have been working our tails off getting a new dresser and nightstand (plus a new set of bookshelves) together, cleaning out a closet and bathroom and generally trying to create a space my Mom will be comfortable in. Mom wouldn’t have cared, actually, but I’ll be damned if I have someone be kind enough to offer that much of their time and energy and they don’t even have a place to hang their clothes.

The result: I’m tired, physically and mentally. I just want to lie down under a warm blanket and sleep until, oh say, after Christmas.

*deep breath*

I know this will all be fine. Everything will get done in time for my Mom’s arrival. I know the surgery will go fine. The tubes will be taken out the next day (NOT taking a week, like with some women who have complications) and I’ll come home. I’ll rest for a week and, even though the recovery is sometimes hard, I’ll get through it. And, be two pounds lighter.

It’s the waiting that’s the bitch.

*bimbles off*