My Psychotic–I Mean Psychic–Connection

Before getting to my regular post, I’d like to thank everyone who voted for WOLF IN THE NIGHT in’s ‘Just One Bite’ contest. Your support means everything to me! I truly appreciate it!  Now, on with the new!

Think everyone knows I’m having knee replacement surgery this Tuesday. I appreciate all the sympathetic noises and good wishes extended, because I’m having trouble pumping myself up to get this thing done.

Yes, I can’t get past my psychotic connection. That’s what Hubby calls it anyway. My hunches are usually eerily correct, and that’s what bothers me. Every time I’ve ignored one, I regretted it.

A little backstory justifies my qualms. The LAST time I had the knee replaced I nearly died. As in talking to dead relatives chasing me back to the here-and-now. Scariest thing I’ve ever experienced. And recovery was a bi-otch. A vicious one. She didn’t just visit; she freakin’ moved in for months.

So when it was determined that replacement failed, and the only recourse to have another put in, I started getting nervous. But I stepped into my big girl panties and scheduled surgery. It’s what has happened since then that’s been the problem.

Okay, in defense of my nervousness, last time they ended up attaching the eighth pint of blood to the IV. I’m sure that’s the source of this obstinate little doubt that keeps pecking at the back of my psyche, warning me to put this off. Rationally, I know my reluctance is simply a leftover from the horrors of the  previous surgery; one that resulted in a second emergency surgery on the third day of recovery. Emergency enough they wouldn’t wait the ten minutes for Hubby to drive back to the hospital before they started. He had nightmares for months I was lost in the hospital and he couldn’t find me, all because he didn’t get to tell me he loved me before I went under. Gotta love a man like that.

The new Doc assured me he’d keep a close eye on me and wouldn’t let me bleed out. Or put the knee in incorrectly like this one. And be sure ALL the tendons were attached this time. I truly have confidence in this young man, but other things keep popping up that have me gritting my teeth. And they all play to my psychotic connection.

Example? Hubby had surgery a few weeks ago. We were teasing each other about taking turns being gimped up and my nervousness over my own surgery while waiting to register him at the hospital. Swear by all that’s holy he’d just remarked, “You’re going to be fine. You’ll come through surgery with flying colors.” The office person pushed the paperwork to him to sign. He got a funny look on his face, covered a section with his hand and said, “Don’t look!”

Of course I yanked his hand away. How was he listed on the paperwork? SINGLE! Cue Twilight Zone music. (Peck, peck.)

Originally I was supposed to have surgery the 5th, and it was postponed until the 12. Only I’m getting conflicting calls over the dates; nurses and personnel seem to have me scheduled for both dates! So am I being doubly taken care of? Or am I so anonymous they can’t differentiate between the Oct. 5th and Oct. 12th me?  Of course my imagination took off. I’m dreaming I’ll get there the 12th and no extra preparations will be made and I’ll croak for sure this time. (Peck, peck, peck.) My heels really started digging in.

I took the final step of pre-registering at the hospital for my surgery despite my misgivings. Everyone gets a number to see the pre-op nurse. What number did they hand me? 13! I have to admit 13 is usually lucky for me. But there’s alway a first time, and tradition usually trumps the rare occasion.  (Says my doubting psyche. Pecka-pecka-peck.)

I seemed to have been lost in the system on top of getting ‘that’ number. My appointment was for 10:30. At six minutes to one I was past fidgety. Was this another sign I needed to walk away from this? That doubt had ratcheted up to jackhammer proportion by now. Never should have worn the denim jacket. Hubby can keep too tight a grip on the back of the collar under my hair.

Hubby insists it’s any possible bad luck being brought out into the open for me to face and dispose of so it can’t touch me during actual surgery. Nyeh. I’m not convinced.

So . . . What do y’all think? Should I make a run for it?


12 Responses

  1. yeah, that’s scary crap. I have this rule, if I fear it, doubt it, don’t feel good about it, have qualms, you name it… after the pep talks by me and others, I start to consider the possibility that someOne bigger than myself might be trying to guide me in the opposite direction for a reason.

    Maybe right now isn’t the right time? Or maybe, the doctor isn’t the right one? Or maybe… I don’t know, but sometimes those things are too big/scary not to take seriously. Good luck, girl! No matter what you choose, I’m sure you’ll come out grand!

    • Or –if I’m honest– maybe I’m just the world’s biggest weenie? laughing Have to admit, it really is hard to ignore!

      Thanks for the good wishes! Hope to hear from you again soon!

  2. Sweetie, you know I’d never say anything to cast doubt on your gift! I’m a big believer in The Big Guy (or Gal) giving us messages in subtle and mysterious ways. If you’ve got the hanky feeling, you have to weigh it for validity and go with your best judgment.

    • lol That’s the problem . . . after the last time my JUDGEMENT is hanky! I’m rational enough to know I’m looking for any and every excuse to back out, and that’s wrong of me.

      One of the things the doc tempted me with? He’s putting in a female knee. Said I’ll get my ‘swish’ back. What woman who’s gimped around for 18 years could resist that?!?

  3. I’m with Romancemama. My mom went through something similar over the summer. She was scheduled for surgery August 2…they pushed it back to August 19. We get there and they want more tests, so they pushed it back again to September 9. On September 8, they called to say they were pushing the surgery back again because they wanted yet more tests…she told them to stick it where the sun don’t shine. Obviously someone (like maybe GOD) didn’t want her to have this surgery and she isn’t.

    I wouldn’t say go against your doctor’s orders if it’s a life or death situation, but I would wonder as well. Sometimes we have to judge what our minds/souls say against what science It isn’t an easy decision to make and I don’t envy you. *big hug*

    • Thanks for the hug! Sometimes you really, really need one! I’ve been miserable forever, and keep wondering how much worse it will get if I DON’T do it. And this Doc is wonderful.

      I’m sure Sayde Grace can appreciate this school of thought: If I don’t have it done, at least I like country music. That means I can still go dancing — because the two-step accommodates the limp! lol

  4. Runere- as someone who has the psychic thing going on as well, I say run. This is enough to make me worry like hell about this surgery – one snafu would be one thing but the litany of them makes me say pull the plug!! I know you want to be better but this may not be the time. Now I’ll be fretting til Stevie calls me when it’s over- if you do this, make him promise to call me!!! I want you to be fine and I’m more worried than ever now.

  5. Guess we’ll find out Tuesday, huh? Stevie-do said email phone numbers to me so he can make a list to call afterward.

    This new Doc was frowning when I explained why I was so nervous. His mouth literally fell open when he read the other doc’s and the hospital’s notes. There was no mistaking the fact he was royally pissed over how I’d been handled. He’s assured me he will personally keep an eye on me; and he’s been teaching this type of replacement all over the U.S. and Canada.

    Different Doc, even a different hospital. Everything should be fine this time. I’m just a weenie!

  6. RUN FORREST RUN, but…. how far will that get you? Grins, You know I know you.. and I know my girlie is scared, but get this taken care of, and you can use recovery time… writing more wolves stories.. I’m gonna give you a call.. much love ..

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