I just got off the phone with the hospital, confirmed my check-in time for Monday, and now I’m starting what I expect to be the longest weekend of my life. Waiting. Just waiting. For someone who usually hates Mondays, Dec 5th will not come soon enough. I have things to do and I know I’ll stay plenty busy doing laundry and packing up any last minute necessities, but the time is dragging by so slowly already, that I can’t imagine the next two and a half days feeling like anything other than dog years.
The closest thing it reminds me of is Fred Clark’s post about Holy Saturday. My life has been an endless period of waiting for this Monday, this turning point in my own calendar. There were times where I thought I would never see this, as though the timer had stopped and would be stopped for years– there was none of what Fred calls “Sunday certainty.” Only hope. Then it started, moving, closer and closer, and December couldn’t get here fast enough, and where did all that time go? The days have passed, the weeks, the months, and now, I’m at the cusp. It feels a bit like a dream, like I’ll wake up on Monday and realize that I dreamt all of this and that I am, of all people, most to be pitied. I feel like I can’t speak with the certainty that this will happen because it hasn’t and my one fear, if I have a fear around surgery, is that it won’t happen.
From what I understand, I’ll be on morphine until Thursday and discharged from the hospital on Friday. I’ll post an update here as soon as I can, but it may almost a week before you hear from me again.