Breathe, just breathe ...

I get my jaw surgery tomorrow.

I haven't been too afraid.  People go through it all the time and Papi lived through top surgery, followed by a hysterectomy that was laced with infection from antibiotics.

So, when my love kept asking if I'm stressed out about going under the knife for the past week, I really just shrugged most of the time, "Nah.  Not really."

Until today.

Honestly, it really wasn't until Papi kept reminding me that it's not normal to be so relaxed about surgery.

That's when I said it out loud.

"Only thing I'm afraid of is after the surgery.  I'm afraid I'm going to stop breathing and die."

My love looked at me with big confused eyes, "That's a pretty big fear.  I'd say that's enough to be afraid of."

Yeah, I guess so.

But technically, I'm not afraid of 'the surgery' and I'm not actually afraid to die, because I know dying is peaceful.

I'm afraid of the general anaesthesia.

What if I stop breathing and they don't know?!?!

I guess I would probably listen to the little voice that says, "Hey, Andréa!  If you just drift away now, you could move aimlessly forever, never having to worry about anything ever again!"

I've been thinking about the last time I had a simple anaesthesia, and how my body couldn't remember to breathe on it's own afterward, coupled with my pulse slowing toward a stop.

The voices guaranteeing eternal tranquility were violently smashed by the distant beeping of a machine.

It was so annoying!  I knew that every time the alarm bells went off, the ladies would come in to help me expunge my breath that was stagnant in my lungs.

But I didn't want to breathe!  I wanted to sleep!

I wanted to continue in the bliss of passing away into another realm of reality, with the option of seeing my Dearly Departed Gypsy once more. 

It was harmonious and they just kept fucking up my chill out!

Way to harsh my mellow bitches!!!!!!!

But I suppose they'd be looking at law suits if they just let me toddle off to the great dog park in the sky. 

Plus they were really nice ladies and they probably genuinely wouldn't want me to die.

It was just that I found it quite the nuisance having to continue to breathe and be alive.

As soon as that electronic beast from hell would croon it's song of agitation, I was like a kid being woken for school.  I laid as quiet and still as I possibly could in hopes that the ladies would just leave me be.

They never did.  "Breathe, Andréa, breathe!  There ya go!"

Please, just 10 more minutes?  Isn't there a snooze button on that fucking beeping monster?

Yeah, that's about the only part I'm afraid of tomorrow.

You may not hear from me for a few days.

It's not that I stopped breathing, it's just that I will probably be in a pain med induced coma.

Or a pain med party.

The latter depends on what candies they give me at the hospital.

Besides, you may be bored reading my blog for the next 2 weeks anyway. 

I'm pretty sure all I'll have to bitch about is the liquid diet I'll be thrown into for 2 weeks, followed by a baby food diet the 2 weeks after that.

But I'm not afraid of the surgery.

the more love i put out, the more i receive