So I now have six long weeks to think about my surgery. To fret, freak out and be a complete and utter you-know-what to my husband. Because he is the one that gets the brunt of my fear and anger. I try to apologize at every chance for my behavior. There's no excuse. My friends tell me it's understandable. But really, I'm not a nice person for this time. And he doesn't deserve that. Not at all.
It turns out that postponing surgery does not make it better. In fact, it gives your daymares (or at least that's what I'm calling them). For the three weeks leading up to my surgery I go from worry to obsession to panic. I am consumed with fear about what will happen. After two long weeks of awful behavior on my part, I finally explain to my husband what has been happening. I start with another apology and then say, "Every day for the past two weeks, a thousand times a day, I die on the operating table during my surgery. And the one or two times a day that I don't die, I have cancer."
I explain that these are my daydreams, nightmares throughout the day - daymares. I tell him that it doesn't end when I go to sleep - all night long, I play these over and over in my head. I am more exhausted than before. He does what he has done a hundred times since we were at the doctor's office. He pulls me close, gives me a hug, and tells me that everything will be okay. And I want to believe him. But part of me feels that something isn't right. I ask for him to keep telling me this everyday. Because until it's over and we have the test results, I won't believe it. But I will try...
