Damn girl, that's a lot of fattitude

I have always battled anxiety and craved control. The lack of it is frustrating for me. I have had to learn to relinquish the need for control since having children. Some days better than other. My eldest has an autoimmune disease (PANS) that presents behaviorally, as well as physically. Unbeknownst to her, she has given me the greatest opportunity for growth in my life. I am forced to look at how I manage my own needs when she is flaring. She is well right now; however, I am struggling. My brain is panicking now that surgery is in two weeks. My sleep interrupted by “what ifs”. My inner control freak losing a grip on reality and I can feel my brain pacing and desperately trying to weigh the risk of all of this. My immediate thought this morning was “WRITE”. That is how I process. So, let’s do this.

The perceived danger of all of this didn’t hit me until the PA at my anesthesiologist appointment on Monday asked me if I had an advanced directive. What did I want them to do if something goes terribly awry and I’m now vented. Do I want them to pull the plug? Do I want to live in a vegetative state, hoping something changes? Truthfully, I want the plug pulled if there’s no hope. I do not want my girls feeling obligated to come and visit me on the holidays. I do not want even the slightest risk of being trapped in my own brain. I do not want to waste away and watch my family mourn my loss day after day, excited by involuntary movement. No. Absolutely not.

Which then took my brain down the “well, what if I die” rabbit hole. The surgery itself is not the danger of it all, though there is risk there, the most urgent complication is a pulmonary embolism post op. What if I have a blot clot that travels up? Am I unnecessarily putting myself at risk?

The wild part is that there are same post op risks after a C-section but I wasn’t the slightest bit worried about it because I didn’t even know that it was thing or a risk until I started researching this freaking abdominoplasty/mastopexy bull shit. Google. Ugh. The worst for people with anxiety.

Statistically speaking, the risks are about the same as dying in a plane crash.

The Surgeon I am using has been ranked number 1 in our area since 2016. This man is double board certified, has won all sorts of awards, has been on TV for his work and I haven’t found a negative review in the hundreds I have read. I don’t have a single complaint from any of the interactions I’ve had with him or his staff. I feel 1000% comfortable and ready for this so I’m just continuing to tell my brain to shut up and get it together, because there is no turning back now. I have come too far to continue to be weighed down by Tummothy.