Necessary Mutilation

It feels very odd going to work for what I know will be the last time in 1 ½ months.  I wearily trudge through all my final chores, including making up packages of information for all my colleagues assuming responsibilities  for my clients; change my answering machine message to reflect my absence and direct callers elsewhere and follow-up on reporting concerns about emotional abuse towards a client by family.  Also, I see my student off over pastry (before my 12:00 food curfew as explained in my pre-operative paperwork) and meet with Kevin, my supervisor, to ensure he is aware of whatever he should know in my absence.

When he asks if I am nervous, I tell him that I feel more edgy about my inability to do things and take care of business during what I fear will be a long convalescence and at least 4 days away from home.  Social worker that he is, Kevin proposes that I am likely focusing on worries I may have some control over rather than those I am impotent in the face of.  Makes sense, I guess.  And then he gave me a strong, comforting hug and vote of confidence –  both very appreciated at such a time.

I left behind a thank you card for all my wonderful colleagues and friends to “find” through the weeks, complete with wedding photo of me from 2001 as a size 16, with the words “Back to the Future” on it.

Through the evening and after grocery shopping for mostly liquids and organic, pureed, mushy stuff, I practically fall into the lounge chair for a night of TV and phone calls from my friends and Tom’s long-distance family.

Despite a graphic telephone call from my friend about her painful second day, I am surprisingly calm.  Maybe it’s the exhaustion and resignation speaking, but right now I don’t seem to care who does what to me, as long as I don’t have to be the responsible, working party.

Other than this, I feel hungry and clear liquids aren’t cutting it for me.  No food since noonish and surgery not scheduled until 12:30 p.m. tomorrow (though I must report at 9:30 a.m.) is a recipe for practicing this not eating much thing, I guess.

Oh what I’d give for one last buffet right now!  I’m sure this is a horrible attitude and a subliminal sign of my not really begin totally on board here - but I can only hope that if truly honest, others would say they felt similarly the night before.  We are emotional eaters after all, aren’t we?!