Five days left...

Yesterday was my last day of work. Since my parents are taking me away for a long weekend, it didn't make sense for me to try and come back and work for one day (Wednesday). So I spent all of yesterday training the new girls who will be taking over for me while I'm gone. Up to this point, Iggy hasn't really interfered with my "daily grind," so to speak. I know he's up there livin' large, but he hasn't forced me to make any actual changes to my day to day routine. Not until today anyway. It didn't hit me until I was leaving the clinic yesterday and all of my co-workers were coming by to wish me all the best and offer hugs (they all looked so incredibly sad that part of me felt like I was heading off to the gallows and not the O.R.) that my life is changing and, consequently, so am I. Regardless of what scars or physical reminders I may end up with, I know this entire experience will leave me a better, stronger version of myself.

***************************************************************************

We don't really chat about the emotional aspect of Iggy much at home. Of course we discuss logistics, who will be going where and when and what to pack and who to call. But I make a point of not discussing my thoughts and feelings about Iggy. My family isn't really the touchy-feely type (I'm sure this has everything to do with the fact that there are 7 guys and only 2 girls in our household) so we usually skip the emotional bits.

Last night, however, my dad did touch on the situation briefly as I let it slip that I was feeling a bit anxious as the date continued to creep closer. He simply remarked how much easier it was for kids than adults to face difficult situations, like surgery. He had both his appendix and his tonsils removed as a kid and, at that age, there's really not much to it. As adults we are bound to speculate and over-think and question and debate whereas children simply lie down and trust in the big people on the other side of the table. It seems a bit ironic, but if you look at it simply, the actual procedure, the operation that will remove Iggy and (hopefully) return my life to some semblance of normalcy, requires absolutely no effort on my part. As my dad put it, all I have to do is sleep for 10 hours and it's over. You'd think that after all of the anxiety and preparation and consideration it would require some act of super human strength on my part. Sure, I have to deal with the recovery but somehow it seems, I don't know, absurd, that the actual solution doesn't really involve me at all. With five days to go, guess I'll just have to do my best to bring out my inner child. :)