POP (Pelvic Organ Prolapse)

What If…

I’ve never been a worrier. I think it’s part of my genetic make up to remain calm during emergency situations (get that from Dad, NOT from Mom). I’m confident in my ability to handle any situation that should arise.

I’m also a planner so I prepare for “what if” type situations. As an example, a few years back we took one of the kids (Matt or Melissa…don’t remember which) and my brother, B#4 was with us. He gave me no end of crap about the things I had planned for in my packing. I pack logically. What if we it gets cold during the shows at night? I’d better pack a sweater or two. What if I break one of my flip flops? Easy. I’ll just take an extra couple of pairs. You get the idea. I’m a “what if” type planner. So, we’re sitting in one of the clubs waiting for the show to start and my lovely B#4 decides he’s going to stump me. “Hey, Sis, I have a chip in my fingernail. Do you have a pair of nail clippers?”  I reach inside my fanny pack (::hangs head in shame to admit I carry a fanny pack on vacation::) and produce nail clippers. He shakes his head, “No. My nails are pretty thick. I probably need toenail clippers.” I pull out the pair of toenail clippers that are there in my fanny pack. “It’s chilly. I could use a wrap.” Yup. I have that. Not in my fanny pack, but in my stateroom. He continues on naming item after item after item that he was sure I would not have thought to bring on vacation. Sorry, Bro, but you can’t win this little game. Then the light went off in his beady little eyes! Looking at my short hair, an evil, sadistic grin spread over his face. “Oh my goodness,” he says, rubbing his hand over his bald head. “My hair is driving me crazy. Do you have a pony tail holder?” *snarky look* Don’t panic. Hold your poker face. Don’t let on that he’s finally won. Dig around in the fanny pack just for show and to make him squirm a little. Wouldn’t you know it. At the bottom of the pack, clipped to a hook, was a pony tail holder that had been there for who knows how long. D#4 watched me because he knew I was totally bluffing. When I pulled out the pony tail holder he gave up. He knew that the over-planning gods were with me.

It is because of this pension to plan for every “what if” scenario that I don’t worry about things. It’s not in my nature.

Last night was a difficult night. A long, sleepless, rough night. I tossed and turned. I couldn’t get comfortable. I was in pain. I couldn’t shut my brain off. And I did something I never do. I began to worry. And I started to play the what if game. What if the reconstruction fails? What if I’ve waited too long and the tissue isn’t viable to reconstruct? What if the sling is too tight? What if the sling is too loose? What if the sling doesn’t adhere to the tissue? What if I rupture the sutures? What if I get an infection? What if I get addicted to the Oxicodone? What if I can’t retrain my muscles to relax? What if my body is too far gone and I can’t get the weight off? What if I can never play volleyball again? What if, what if, what if???

I have no answers for any of these scenarios. I have no control over what comes next. I have all these things running through my head and I can’t reconcile any of them. I can’t reach into my old lady fanny pack and pull out the prize. I’m in the middle of this game that I can’t win. I have to have faith in my doctor to take care of business. You know. Like I did the first time.

Up until yesterday I have been characteristically calm. Saturday Mark asked me if I was nervous. I said, “Nope. I feel pretty calm about the whole thing.” He said, “You were calm the last time, too.” Um. Thanks? He doesn’t quite know how to deal with me. He is a worrier. To the point of grinding his teeth type worrier. I think it astounds him that I have been so calm over the whole thing. No point in both of use being worked up over it, right? He worries enough for the both of us. 

I’m not sure what it was about last night that had me in a wee bit of a tizzy, but I never was able to relax enough to sleep.  I’m better today. But there is still that nagging in the back of my brain that if there is a 1% risk of something, that I will be that 1%. And that is a little disconcerting.


7 thoughts on “What If…”

  1. I’m a worryier, but a planner too. I don’t think I could do one without the other. Big hugs , I’ll be thinking of you.

  2. It does no good to worry. things will go one of two ways. badly- there is nothing you can do to prevent it, you just deal with whatever the hell happens. and if thing turn out well? see, you worried for nothing at all. This is what I attempt to live by. Doesnt always happen, but I try. I have faith your surgery will be a fabulous success.

    1. I’m pretty much the same. If I can’t control it, I don’t worry about it. That’s why it was SO disconcerting to worry like that the other night. Ugh. I’m just going to be glad to have the surgery over with one way or another.

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