So, being the night owl that I am, I couldn’t sleep last night. Funny how I was completely exhausted at about 10pm, and there I was - close to midnight with a bizarre surge in energy. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised by that because it is, after all, a regular occurrence. I knew I should have been getting some rest, but my body and my brain were not cooperating. I kept trying to imagine how I would react to the absence of Tatiana’s stoma, and I started to feel that nervous internal energy – the kind that could fuel a mental marathon. In some ways, it’s a nice feeling, but it was making me anxious and it was preventing me from getting any sleep.
Well, that anxiety pales in comparison to the anxiety I felt this morning. I am pretty sure I woke up to experience a full-fledged panic attack.
I woke up to my phone ringing at 6:27am. My heart dropped and I felt the most extreme panic I’ve ever experienced in my life. This is by no means an exaggeration – I’ve been calmer in major emergencies. I think I might have even felt more panicked than when we first found out about Tatiana’s condition. I’m pretty sure the first full minute after opening my eyes and shooting out of bed was filled with all of the curse words imaginable. My body was shaking from the adrenaline. This was a nightmare – one I’ve had so many times before, but now it was actually happening in real life. I have to admit there was something funny about how close this was to those horrible dreams.
I ran downstairs frazzled. “Wake up! We were supposed to be at the hospital 15 minutes ago!” My husband had stayed up with Tatiana most of the night. Part of her preparation for the surgery required that we give her only clear liquids 24 hours before and nothing at all after midnight, so you can just imagine how unhappy she was about that.
I ran back upstairs.
Stay calm, stay calm – I dialed the hospital. I don’t even know what I said, I was freaking out to such an unfamiliar degree. All I remember was the person on the other end of the line telling me that they would let the surgeon know and that they would see us soon.
Oh crap. We have to make it. We’ve been waiting for this surgery for so long. I don’t know if I can take another disappointment on this one, and this one would involve an entirely new level of self-blame.
I had set four alarms. Unfortunately, none of them went off. How that happens, I have no clue. I am pretty sure it has something to do with the silly things that happen to me and with the universal plan that puts me on track to being late to my own funeral. I’ll admit, I was late to my own wedding, but I have never been late to any of Tatiana’s surgeries – until today, that is. We were supposed to check her in to the hospital by 6:15am.
I don’t even know how we managed to get out of the house so fast, bring everything we needed, and have my 3 year old ready for daycare. I guess it was a good thing I had packed the night before.
My sister found humor in how much the chaos of this morning resembled the scene from the movie Home Alone. She wasn’t too far off the mark, but at least we remembered to bring the baby!
We made it just a few minutes past 7am. And thank goodness, they were still able to admit her for surgery. Phew!
Well, that anxiety pales in comparison to the anxiety I felt this morning. I am pretty sure I woke up to experience a full-fledged panic attack.
I woke up to my phone ringing at 6:27am. My heart dropped and I felt the most extreme panic I’ve ever experienced in my life. This is by no means an exaggeration – I’ve been calmer in major emergencies. I think I might have even felt more panicked than when we first found out about Tatiana’s condition. I’m pretty sure the first full minute after opening my eyes and shooting out of bed was filled with all of the curse words imaginable. My body was shaking from the adrenaline. This was a nightmare – one I’ve had so many times before, but now it was actually happening in real life. I have to admit there was something funny about how close this was to those horrible dreams.
I ran downstairs frazzled. “Wake up! We were supposed to be at the hospital 15 minutes ago!” My husband had stayed up with Tatiana most of the night. Part of her preparation for the surgery required that we give her only clear liquids 24 hours before and nothing at all after midnight, so you can just imagine how unhappy she was about that.
I ran back upstairs.
Stay calm, stay calm – I dialed the hospital. I don’t even know what I said, I was freaking out to such an unfamiliar degree. All I remember was the person on the other end of the line telling me that they would let the surgeon know and that they would see us soon.
Oh crap. We have to make it. We’ve been waiting for this surgery for so long. I don’t know if I can take another disappointment on this one, and this one would involve an entirely new level of self-blame.
I had set four alarms. Unfortunately, none of them went off. How that happens, I have no clue. I am pretty sure it has something to do with the silly things that happen to me and with the universal plan that puts me on track to being late to my own funeral. I’ll admit, I was late to my own wedding, but I have never been late to any of Tatiana’s surgeries – until today, that is. We were supposed to check her in to the hospital by 6:15am.
I don’t even know how we managed to get out of the house so fast, bring everything we needed, and have my 3 year old ready for daycare. I guess it was a good thing I had packed the night before.
My sister found humor in how much the chaos of this morning resembled the scene from the movie Home Alone. She wasn’t too far off the mark, but at least we remembered to bring the baby!
We made it just a few minutes past 7am. And thank goodness, they were still able to admit her for surgery. Phew!
