PD Day 6

I'm starting to be practical. I'm writing down my list of things I want to ask the neurosurgeon, thinking about what I'll want for recovery, jotting down things I can suggest when people ask "is there anything I can do?" That, in particular, was a wonderful discovery I made reading someone else's blog. The few people I've told so far have all asked- and I've had nothing to say.

I want to call my aunt Susan. She was an RN, and lived an absolutely remarkable life despite an eleven year battle with breast cancer and being unable to work. I want her to tell me about surgery and medication. I want her to help me figure out how to live with this, and how to live after this. She was so brave and together through everything. She modeled to me what was truly important. I miss her so much.

I'm scared. I'm scared of the surgery itself. I'm scared of the pain, of possible complications, of it not working. I'm scared I'll lose my job, or be unable to work. I'm scared I'll lose my insurance, have complications, be unable to pay for my care, lose my house, and die of meningitis. That must sound totally absurd, but this is the overriding theme in the back of my mind.

Merry Fucking Christmas.