Today my job is to gather the items needed for my after care basket. I will have a bag or basket that I can keep next to me with many items I might need at the ready. I’ll have chapstick, crackers, dry shampoo, tissues, straws, that sort of thing. I also will be picking up my prescription camisole to wear. It will hold my few drains and keep everything in place. It will be the garment I wear (when it isn’t being cleaned) pretty constantly for the next few weeks. Husband is preparing for his days off, and I’ve been prepping the house by cleaning a little better than usual.
So? What’s the big deal?
There is one thing that bothers me about all of this: I feel like this is going to be what saves me, my steady anchor. My mother, at age 79, needed none of this. Of course, this means I have guilt about my care basket. My thoughts become and more absurd as I spiral into shame. Here is a sample of my thoughts: “This is so ridiculous! Why do I need these things? Why do I need comfort? Mom is so tough. She didn’t need anything. She probably just took a shot of whiskey and bit on a wooden spoon while they operated.”
Yeah. Dumb. Welcome to my brain.
So, I’ll gather my things even though they make me feel weak, and I will probably be happy I have them. I may not be my mother but I sure am her daughter. I know I will make it out of this ok, even if I need real anesthesia.