Tomorrow I am getting my wisdom teeth out. All four. In hospital.
How do I feel about this? I am scared out of my fricken tree. Seriously. The last time I was in hospital, giving birth to Grumbles, I almost so very nearly didn't come out again, so the thought of having to lie on that hospital trolley again, counting down to ten as the anaesthetist does his thing really doesn't appeal. I'm having a mild anxiety attack just typing this.
Even just the smell of a hospital sends a shudder through me.
I'm not worried about the pain. Pain I can handle. It's just the thought of something going horribly wrong that is giving me the willies. I know, I know, it's just a dental procedure - what can wrong? Well, last time I was just meant to pop out a baby, and look how that finished up. Me, lying there, star of my own blood-filled medical tragedy, featuring 5 hours of emergency surgery, 18 blood transfusions, loss of coagulation system and a sub-partial hysterectomy. Yay - happy days!
Whew. Deep breaths.
It's the waiting that's doing me in. The weekend was fine, I was rushing about like a mad woman, cooking pot after pot of soup, and making numerous batches of ice-cream, both of which will see me through the week. But now Grumbles is having her nap, Galumph is at work, and I'm sitting here trying to keep dark thoughts out of my mind. Having a vivid imagination isn't always such a good thing, ya know? Bring on tomorrow and let's get the whole thing over and done with.
Ok, more deep breaths. Sorry for being such a sook.
I just want to wake up, and be ok. I just want to be able to live a long and happy life, growing disgracefully old with my husband, and having the joy of watching my little girl grow up. Please, please God, don't let anything go wrong this time.