We've had a good run, but after almost 33 years of pain-free co-existence, the time has come for us to part. After the attacks that landed me in the hospital in July, I decided not to make a hasty decision to have you removed. Since I was pregnant at the time, it would have been risky. You've behaved yourself since August, and I thought that we were going to be able to continue living together in peace.
After the stunt you pulled Saturday night that resulted in three hours of agony, a frantic call to my OB (she has the records from the ultrasound in July), and an ER visit that was a complete waste of time, you've got to go. I'm still angry about the unnecessary IV that was installed in my arm, then removed shortly afterward. Then, last night around 3:00, you decided to act up again. This time, I took two Vicodin, tried to relax and focus on my breathing, and passed out after an hour.
Never again. I have an appoinment with a surgeon Wednesday. I don't know when the surgery can be done, and I am scared as hell, but I do not want to go through an attack again. It feels like someone is squeezing you all the way around your body below your chest, accompanied by severe burning. All of that makes it hard to breathe. Fun.
I'll probably have to go through this without my mom, because she can't come in until the week after Thankgiving. Since I won't be able to lift Zoe for a few days, I am hoping I can rely on my friends to come over and help me during the day when Darren is gone. We'll see...