Every journal entry I’ve made since Friday has included some version of “Hard to believe that next week at this time….” And mostly that’s what I’ve been up to—preparing for life after surgery. What can I wear home from the hospital that won’t irritate my scar? Do I have pajama pants with waistbands that will be gentle to my swollen belly? My first night home should I try to sleep on the couch mostly sitting up, or can I figure out how to sleep in my bed without having to sleep on my back,which is painful at the best of times? And most important, what’s the best kind of antenna to get so I can watch the Oscars since I won’t be making my annual pilgrimage to NYC to watch them with S?
Even as I’m planning and scheming and dreaming of when I’m all healed up and back to (relative) normal, I’m also in a state of profound gratitude for all the helping hands that are outstretched in my direction. And I think that’s ultimately the healing that will come out of this. Yes, I’ll be glad to be done with the fibroids and all the symptoms they bring with them, but mostly I’ll be glad to be done with feeling like I’m high maintenance, that I ask too much of the people in my life, that I’m too needy. Turns out that all of these years, I wasn’t asking too much—at least not most of the time—I was just asking the wrong people.