I get all the pre-op poking and touching tomorrow, my personal favourite, the trans-catheter urine sample. the abject indignity of it is unparalleled. Fortunately the last 2 times I endured this it was with an awesome nurse who makes me feel as comfortable as one can be while being defiled in this way. Hoping to go 3 for 3 and get her again tomorrow.
In other news, today I threw out most of my socks. I had a LOT of socks. They were mostly old and ratty, which didn't matter because generally if it's sock weather, I'm wearing boots so as long as there are no holes cutting off circulation in your toes, who gives a fuck? Anyway, my point of this is while my inner sock hoarder freaked the fuck out, I casually thought to myself
"If I'm not dead in 2 weeks I'll get more socks"
Look, last weeks revelation about the actual size of my aneurysm is doing my fucking head in. I've done just enough reading to be dangerous. Right now I'd equate the feeling to when you were a kid, and you've overfilled a water balloon but you think you can still make it across the lawn with it to nail your friend in the face with it. Except you only get about 3/4 the way there before the balloon bursts all over your hand. It feels like that, except happening inside you and completely out of your control. When you're a kid it's thrilling, as an adult it's a reason to play it a bit fast and loose with your Xanax prescription. Anyway, my long winded point is, you have to be comfortable with that you could die. I am. I most certainly don't WANT to and will make every effort not to do so, but, you know, shit happens. And a lot of awesome people have already died this year - AM I TO BE PART OF THE RAPTURING OF THE AWESOME!!?? #STAYTUNED