Back To Being The Anxious Traveler

So, I haven’t been able to sleep much the last few nights.  Our two month Mexican adventure is rapidly approaching and my anxiety about the whole thing is at an all time high. I worry about my animals of course, even though we are having a house sitter stay to watch them, but I know that Frida has already surmised that something is amiss.

I found her the other day hiding in one of our suitcases, as if to say, “You must take me to Mexico on this trip. Have you forgotten where I am from after all? I will never forgive you if you don't hide me in this huge thing.”

Our dog Margarita will forget my existence in probably point three seconds after I leave her sight. She is a bit like Dory from Finding Nemo and Edgar…well Edgar just wants his food promptly on time and it doesn't really matter who is necessarily the giver in that.

But, the real crux of the matter is that I will be having surgery the first Friday that we arrive and I’m a bit freaked out about it, mainly because it’s an elective sort of thing.  I’ve noticed throughout the years, with my weight fluctuations, that my breasts are rapidly heading down south, so I decided, with the help of modern technology, to do something about it.

I met with the plastic surgeon who will be performing the surgery via whatsapp facetime for on Tuesday.  He was very professional, but did want to see what he would be working with….understandable, I thought…and should have been expected.  However, it did not deter me from trying to take my sports bra off over my shirt, my husband turning the camera around so as to get a better angle, and my arms getting stuck somewhere between the straps of my bra and the arms of my shirt.  I felt like a baby walrus as I flapped about trying to free at least one of my arms as my husband was filming the whole thing like I was in some sort of porn blooper reel.

Why am I like this, I thought.  Never one to be elegant or smooth, but always having a weird catch in my overall carriage.

We discussed options once I freed myself of my shirt.  I waffled on what size I wanted to have.  I never thought I would do this sort of surgery, but here we are.

I promised to send him images of what I would like my breasts to look like and then asked about the anesthesia and any precautions I should be taking.

“I have stopped taking all of my vitamins,” I proudly stated.

“And I haven’t had a sip of alcohol,” I continued, also very proudly. “I am a rule follower about some things,” I hastily added, emphasizing the some. I didn't want him to think I'm too much of a square after all.

He raised one eyebrow before cocking his head to one side.  I didn’t know what I was expecting him to say…that he was proud of me for my self restraint…or maybe a clapping of hands and a bravo for my will power.

That’s not what happened of course.  The expected is so rarely, well, expected in my world.

“That’s not really necessary,” he said.  

“How many vitamins do you take anyway?” He continued with a slight chuckle.  And then I muttered something about creatine, B12, magnesium, and peptides lots and lots of peptides.

“I’m trying to maintain as much youth as I can,” I nervously stuttered before somewhat manically giggling.

“And don’t really worry about the alcohol,” he said, ignoring the last part of my mumbled words.  “I mean don’t get wasted but a couple tequilas or even a margarita is not the end of the world.”

Tell me you're Mexican, without telling me you're Mexican, I couldn’t help but to think.

“And I like to perform under local anesthesia, but we will talk to the anesthesiologist once you get here,” he briefly added and I found myself nodding along and mouthing the word yes like that makes perfect sense to me.

It doesn’t by the way.  I do not want to be awake for this thing.  Quite the contrary.  I want to be dead asleep and wake up with everything being over and properly put in its place and then have license to be lazy with my skin care and downloaded Law and Order episodes for much of the foreseeable future.

In essense, I want to time travel into my future and forget the whole someone is cutting into my chest, moving the muscles aside, and planting a foreign object inside of me in hopes that my body will just comply to the unwanted intrusion.

Once the call was over I felt a sinking in my chest.  I don’t think he likes me at all, I thought, and then, I really hope he wants to do my surgery, like that is what I should be focused on and concerned about in this moment.

But I do find that I am concerned about such things because I’m an anxious person, and always want to be the good student or patient even though it shouldn’t really matter. 

"I think he will like anyone paying him this kind of money," A stable minded friend told me and I found myself nodding along with her statement too as my mouth formed the words yes and of course you’re right.

I’m holding my breath until this whole thing is over and I’m really trying not to scour the internet for personal stories, the ones that always seem to end in nightmares, because that doesn’t do anyone any good.  I’m also trying to abstain from alcohol, even though he gave me the green light to indulge a tiny bit, but maintaining a level of dryness will probably do my body quite a bit of good.

I will update you on how I do and I pray sleep will find me at some point and it will be a sleep that is fitful, dreamless, and will carry me through this self induced trauma.