Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Tomorrow, Tomorrow

I am a hot mess today.

Just a seething mass of anxiety about tomorrow's impending gall bladder removal surgery.

I do not roil easily.  This is not a normal part of my personality.  I am many things neurotic, but anxious is not high on my list of personality traits.  I am usually the person you want with you in a crisis, calm and taking charge (OK, maybe a little bit too bossy, I'll confess).

The upside is, I don't experience anxiety frequently.  The downside is, when I do experience it?  It's excruciating to me, intolerable.  It has been pointed out that I will cause situations to explode, much to my detriment, rather than tolerate an ongoing anxious uncertainty for any length of time.

But this situation?  Not at all under my control.  I just have to suck it up and wait until tomorrow at noon.  Anxiously.

Actually I guess I could eat a giant highly fatty meal (double Shack Burger, anyone?) and cause my gall bladder to go into full-on attack mode, landing me in the emergency room today.  But even I am not neurotic enough to pull that one off.

Besides, that would really hurt (like kill-me-and-put-me-out-of-my-misery-NOW kind of hurt) and when it comes to physical pain?  I am a whimpo supremo.

And also?  I have plans in place, and they don't start until tomorrow.  The kids expect to see me tonight, and I them.  And my kids?  Are getting a bit anxious about all this, too.

For Jacob it's diffuse, he probably isn't even consciously aware of the tension.  He just feels it in the air, my little autistic psychic sponge, and wants to be hugged.  A lot.

And Ethan?  Pretty much guaranteed to be his most highly annoying, out-of-control self.  The operating equation being: Ethan + anxiety = obnoxious to the 10th degree.  Sigh.

And I will work hard to channel my kindest, wisest, super-mommy self; to not react with anger out of my own anxiety, because I know he needs calming, needs love and reassurance.

So there will be fart jokes tonight.  Much mention of undergarments; requests that I smell his feet, with said feet being thrust near my face.  And I will embrace my jittery, fast dancing, fast talking kid and my dreamy, spacey one.  Tell them that everything will be alright.

And it will.  It will.

(Could someone please just hit me over the head with a frying pan and then wake me up tomorrow at noon?  No?  OK, I'll just plod on through, then.)

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