is over and done with.  THANK GOD!  Let me tell you, it sucked.  The procedure itself wasn't so awful as was the bedside manner.  Up until yesterday I was told I'd be out in a few hours and put into a deep sleep - no big deal.  Yesterday I was informed that I was going to be put under general anesthesia and there most of the day.  I was not prepared for that in my head and with arrangements for the kids.  Of course they didn't tell me this first thing in the morning either; rather, 3 o'clock in the afternoon.

After a mad scramble, I arranged for rides for Sam and Kit to and fro school, a ride for Sam for guitar and longer coverage for Susanna.  It wasn't easy, but it got done.  Emotionally, I was a wreck.  I can handle most anything, but I am the type of person who needs to know what the plan is.  It gives me time to wrap my head around it and come to terms with the worst case scenario.  In my mind, if I can handle the worst case scenario, then I can handle anything else.

Ben and Susanna brought me to the hospital this morning.  Our sitter for Susanna couldn't be at the house until after I had to be at the hospital.  Ben could only go so far back with me because they don't let babies back there.  I understood, but didn't like it.  I cried twice before Ben left.  He assured me that I was tough and would be fine before he left.  Well as soon as they wheeled me to the holding area, I started to bawl again.  I am not usually a crier.  One of the nurses shut my curtain, brought me tissues and reassured me that with a uterine problem - my hormones were messed up.  Crying was acceptable.

My surgery was delayed and pretty much I sat there waiting.  So I cried two or three more times.  The anesthesiologist with the bedside manner from hell came in and asked me the usual.  I told him my allergies, that I was EXTREMELY nervous about going under and that I get nauseous and itchy from anesthesia.  He looked at me like I was insane and said, "What do you mean you get itchy?!"  "Um," I replied, "Just that I get itchy.  It happened after two of my c-sections and they were able to give me something or it."  He rolled his eyes.  Then I asked how quickly I was going to be knocked out because I don't like the feeling like I had with one of my spinals and when I had my impacted wisdom teeth removed.  He snarkily said that he can't acct for how my mind will handle it and left.  Needless to say, I cried AGAIN.

I was in a ripe state when they came to get me.  I guess Dr. Evil had an assistant, cause he came with a lovely needle with orange liquid in it.  He told me that he'd be putting it in my IV and it would make me relaxed - kinda like I had a few glasses of wine.  He was right.  For the first time I joked, saying that I felt like I should have one foot on the ground like after a good night at the pub when in college.  I remember them moving me to the table and then I was not awake until after.

The surgeon never called Ben like they were supposed to.  All the nurses were questioning why nobody was there for me.  Luckily Ben was worried and drove back on his own getting ready to raise hell as to where I was.  As soon as we were allowed, we were out of there!  YEAY!

As always tho, the nurses are sooooo nice.

I did realize tho that part of my fear came from having to be intubated.  This may sound crazy, but the thought of being intubated brings me to a dark, scary place that is remnant from Sam's time on life support.  It is not like one has anything to do with the other but it brought me there anyway.  You think you are over things and then sometimes unrelated things just brings back unresolved issues.  I suspect tho that there will always be residual from that.  But the emotional rollercoaster coupled with the physical procedure has me feeling very, very, very worn.

To boot, nobody even told me what they found or biopsied.  Lovely, eh?