4 a.m. April 21, 2010
I can't sleep. My alarm is going to go off in half an hour and I haven't slept. I think my mother and N are sleeping. I don't hear them moving. I need to sleep. Wait, do I? Won't I be sleeping through this ordeal anyway? Yes, I guess I'll rest then.
4 a.m. April 21, 2011
I can't sleep. My alarm is going to go off in 3 hours and I haven't slept. It's just like it was a year ago. Wait, no; it's not. A year ago I couldn't sleep because I was in pain. A year ago I couldn't sleep because there was no comfortable position that didn't cause pain. And let's face it, a year ago I couldn't sleep because I was scheduled to be at the hospital in 2 hours. For surgery. Brain surgery. Unreal.
I don't remember being nervous. My only care was that my mother would be OK. It would be hardest on her. I would be sleeping through it; she'd be waiting. Would she have enough food to eat? I had packed her a lunch bag. N cooked enough to last more than a week. A week was enough. Dr. Morcos said I'd be on my feet cooking my own meals in a week. I did not doubt him. (He was right. I made a pineapple upside down cake and brownies a week after I was released.) You have to be able to trust your neurosurgeon. That's important.
I truly never thought about it. I couldn't. Reality tried to creep in when Mn came to visit. He made me choke up. Damn him. But that's OK; MF stopped by next. He made me laugh. No, damn him too. Laughter caused pain.
"Not after tomorrow," he said.
Well, what about that lady in my support group who was still in pain post-surgery?
"There'll be no pain after tomorrow."
He was right.