That should have been my first clue...
Spinster Nation, I need a little help, please. If you think about it tomorrow at 9am EST, could you send a little happy thought my way that I don't have a full-on Tony Soprano panic attack right there in the machine in front of God, the radiologist, and everybody? Or that I don't have a heart attack or stroke from the stress of it all? And that, for the love of Mike they'll give me a gown that will actually cover all of my wobbly bits and not make me feel like an elephant wearing a postage stamp?
And I'm nervous and sad and frustrated and overwhelmed and tired and worried and just plain old worn out from trying to be Polly Cheerful and live like I'm made entirely of rainbows, unicorns, cross stitch, and glitter.
But...and this is something I know to be true...if I can just close my eyes and think about all you out there in cyberland squeezing my hand and saying "You've got this, girl" I might actually survive it all and make it to the actual transplant in a few months (God willing).
Geeze, Louise...why in the heck did I pick today to have my nervous breakdown?!
The tissue typing vials are on their way to Indy, I've got my little instruction sheet all ready to go for the morning, and Bosco has finally decded to stop pooping on the rug to see if I'm paying atention. Poor little guy has tummy issues, so we're trying to practice calmness and deep breathing together to see if we can put things to rights once again.
I know, I know, this too shall pass. I just need to remember to channel my inner Big Girl and get on with things. But do there have to be so darn many of them all at once? Health, money, house, family, chores, global warming, war, strife, laundry...eye yai yai! It's enough to make even a sane and competent person a little nuts.
Onward. There's a ham sandwich calling me, some stitching to be done, and lots if bad TeeVee to view. I'll be back tomorrrow with a full report...I hope!