the first cut is the deepest

I had my pre-operative consultation with a Nurse Practitioner and an Anesthesiologist at Jefferson Hospital this morning. Of course my surgery, which was originally scheduled for July 20th, then moved to the 27th, and is now pushed back to August 10th because the surgeons had yacht christenings and polo matches and greyhound races and caviar eating contests to attend to first. The patient always comes second.

Everything looks okay, and they sent me on my way with a patient information packet which I looked over this afternoon instead of doing any real work. Inside the folder was a sheet of paper that told me that I can't eat after 11pm on the 9th and I have to stop taking my medication on July 27th and that I should be extra careful not to get pregnant between now and then or else I would have to sell the baby to the hospital for research or cloning or something.

Tucked behind the liability forms that I signed without reading was a brochure assuring me that there would be a chaplain by my bedside in case I died on Jefferson's watch and there are counseling services available in the off-chance that I become addicted to the pain meds that they will give me but I'll be too scared to take because I've seen too many people get hooked on prescription drugs.

I have a placard with passages from the Bible, quotes from the Koran, old Sanskrit Proverbs, readings from the Haneshama Prayerbook, The Four Brahamaviharas, and the Serenity Prayer. (read: Every time I see that Serenity Prayer I think of Serenity undergarments and a bunch of old ladies in a circle chanting, "God, grant me the serenity to accept the fact that I cannot stop peeing my pants, the courage to change my pants, and the wisdom to know when my pants need changed". That's the kind of stuff that goes on in my head when I'm all by myself in aisle 5 of the Walgreens.)

Nestled behind all that is a big fat book about Living Wills and Durable Powers of Attorney and Advance Directives which serves as a glaring reminder that I have a baby now and maybe my attitude about letting me go when it is my time is a little bit selfish and maybe some medical intervention is called for in certain situations and not everyone who dies just a little bit ends up all ugly and curled up and creepy looking like Terri "kill me now to keep what little bit of dignity I have left intact" Schiavo.

I always said that when it is your time to go it is your time to go and there isn't anything that you or anyone else should do about it, provided you are an adult and you are capable of making that decision. Resuscitation is for children and people who are afraid to die, says I. Now I'm not so sure. Maybe resuscitation is for children and people who take care of those children and people who are afraid to die. I think my new outlook is that if the doctors think that I have a shot at pulling me out of death's doorway with a reasonable chance at a normal life they can do what it takes to keep me breathing.

As long as I won't end up all ugly and curled up and creepy looking. Everyone who has ever been in the seventh grade knows that a dead mom is like sooo much way less embarrassing and like, traumaticalizing, than a butt-ugly mom.

And I only want what is best for Jake.