I was supposed to start dying next week in hospice, but instead, I’m getting surgery. It’s strange. I’m still preparing for death and dealing with a bunch of red tape for everything from cashing out some of my retirement funds to my disability payments. I had nonstop visitors for over a week and instead of a tearful final goodbye, at least this gives us a bye-for-now attitude, hanging hope onto the surgery that may or may not buy me a little bit more time.
There are many worse things than the prospect of too many visitors once you’re in the hospital for surgery and recuperating. I appreciate all the messages I’ve received about visiting, both when I’m in the hospital and after my surgery. I check into the hospital on November 11 and have surgery November 12, then I am in the hospital for four to five days. My mom is coming out to stay with me and take care of me November 20–29.
I’ve been through a similar surgery for my Whipple procedure, though this will be less invasive. Refreshing my memory about that time with old posts, recovery was tough and worse than the stem cell transplant. I spent a lot of time in pain and on pain meds. I also came across an old blog about my unofficial visitors policy when I was in the hospital recovering from my stem cell transplant in 2014, and my attitude then was: “I want to be alone.”
This procedure and the circumstances are much different, of course. I had to be really careful with my immunity after the stem cell transplant. Also, I knew I would live and get better afterwards. I’m aware this might not work or it could hasten hospice and will buy me a small amount of time at best.
However, I’m still the same person I’ve always been. When a few people mentioned to one of my friends that I don’t seem that sick, she compared me to my favorite animal, the cat. She had taken her 20-year-old cat to the vet, who told her that the cat was really sick and in bad shape. She didn’t know how serious the cat’s health problems were or how bad the cat felt. The vet explained that cats don’t always show their pain, and when they do, it’s usually at a point where it’s pretty bad. “Josie’s like a cat,” she said.
At this point I can’t hide how bad I feel sometimes with the pain and dehydration and fatigue.
Also, like a cat, when I am feeling bad, I would like to drag myself under a porch and disappear.
When I am sick, I’m not huge on people visiting me when I’m drugged up and won’t remember things with a bag of my bodily fluids hanging off my bed. I prefer to hang out with people on my terms, when I’m more in control.
The other thing is that I’m actually an introvert. I had a shrink in my 20s who was really into the Briggs-Meyers test, and I always test on the more social side of introvert. I want to be an extrovert and I believe through sheer force of will I have pushed myself to the border of introvert/extrovert. But I’m not naturally “on” and even if you say I don’t have to entertain you, I really feel compelled to do so. I sometimes get a little drained.
I am up for visitors, but, like I said years ago, “’If you happen to be around and want to drop by, that’s OK. But if you plan to come to New York specifically to see me in the hospital, please don’t.” It’s possible I might change my mind but for now, I think I will need some down time too.
I love and appreciate the help, and I will definitely ask for more help if I need it. It is very possible that I will. I would rather just see you, say, poolside than bedside, and I’m hoping I have the chance. I think I have a lot of the caregiving covered. Hopefully see you on the other side of this.