My phone rang, I didn’t know the number. Usually I screen calls from numbers I don’t know, but for some reason this time I answered.
It turns out my breast reduction surgery date has been moved up. The surgery was originally scheduled for the end of August, now it is scheduled for next week!
I’m excited to be more proportional. I’m excited for my back to stop bugging me all the time. I’m excited for the next time I go bra shopping. I’m excited for my first run post surgery. I’m excited to stop slouching (hopefully). I’m even excited to go shopping and buy new shirts.
But, I wont lie, I’m absolutely freaking out!
For the first time ever in my life, I’m afraid of dying.
Evidently I’m afraid of my own mortality.
Honestly, right now it’s taking everything in my power not to Google anesthesia death rates.
The idea of going into surgery and not coming out alive scares the hell out of me. I have never really contemplated this before. Even when I had my emergency D&C in a hospital ER (the only “real” surgery I’ve ever had in my life) the thought of me dying never crossed my mind. Maybe its because for that D&C the doctor’s kept talking about needing the surgery right a way for my health so the focus was on keeping me alive. Or maybe it’s because it all happened so quickly that there wasn’t enough time for me to be afraid. Or more probably, it’s because I never felt like I had so much to lose.
Baby MPB is my life, and I cannot imagine not being here for and with him.
Yet, I know rationally that I want this surgery and I also know that it’s rather uncommon for patients to die during plastic surgery. But still, this fear, right now it’s very real. And I don’t have a lot of time to deal with this fear as the surgery date is fast approaching.
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