Monday, March 18, 2013

Yes, I am an Unabashed Drama Queen

I'm a drama queen.  I fully admit it.  In my defense, I paid $60,000 for a theatre degree, and at least I'm using it for something.

I'm not just dramatic; I'm also highly emotional.  I cry about a lot of shit - sometimes over things that barely register with most other people.  I cry at weddings.  Not just the weddings of people I know, either.  If I pass a church and see a bride and groom standing outside -- instant waterworks.  Funerals?  Forget it.  I could never be a funeral singer because I'd never make it past the first two notes of "Danny Boy" or "Amazing Grace" before breaking down in a blubbery mess. I cry at touching news stories about puppies born with three legs, or about cats that find their way home after being accidentally left at rest stops nineteen states away.  I cry at movies.  Doesn't matter what they are.  I cried at "The Wedding Crashers."  (Come on, now - are you really surprised? There were weddings involved!  I cry at ALL weddings)!  I cried at "Life of Pi."  I cried at "The Deer Hunter."  I cry at curtain calls.  I cry during the "Hallelujah" chorus when everyone stands up and the music rumbles through my soul and I start belting out "KING O-OF KINGS! AND LORD O-OF LORDS!!"  I'm not even Christian and I can't help it.  I'm just moved that way.

So when I started thinking about waking up in the hospital on surgery day and realizing that there might not be anyone there to greet me as I come out of my fog...I cried.  And then I cried some more.  And then when I was done crying, I called my mom and asked her if she'd come to Buffalo to be with me at the hospital.  She told me she probably couldn't, because she'd probably have to work that day.  And so I cried again. 

I'm not an attention whore.  I don't want a million people fawning over me.  I don't want people in and out of my house all day long, even though I know I'll need people to help me and to make sure I'm getting my fluids and not falling down and injuring myself in an Oxycontin stupor.  I don't want someone to spoon-feed me Jell-O or read me bedtime stories (though both those things have been offered). But I do want to wake up in the hospital to see someone I know, and I do think it'd be kind of nice if that someone was my mom. 

A while back, I wrote a post about feeling alone in all of this, and now it's really starting to hit me just how alone I really am.  People have lives and jobs and kids and responsibilities, and it's no one's job or responsibility to take care of me or make sure I have a friendly and familiar face to wake up to in the hospital.  If I had a husband or a boyfriend, perhaps I would have that built-in person, someone who would be willing and able to take the afternoon off from work to hang out with me while I regain consciousness and process all that's gone on.  I watch these videos on YouTube of people who are being wheeled into the OR with their significant others kissing them, and their moms waving to them, and then later on you see them waking up with their sig-o at their side, mom straightening the blankets and fluffing their pillows, and I wonder who's going to be there for me.   Not only is this a physically significant event for me, it's also highly emotional.  And I'm going to cry.  

Yeah, I'm being dramatic.  Five years ago (almost to the day) I was in the very same hospital and didn't even want my mother to know.  I'd taken myself in for an asthma attack gone nuts and ended up staying for four days.  I didn't tell my aunt.  I had my friends quietly take care of my house and my pets, and took care of my own business.  But at no time was I under anesthesia, and I wasn't having anything taken out of my body.  As soon as my lungs were clear, I was out of there.  My car was in the lot so I had a ride home.  My life went back to normal and that was the end of it.  This?  It's a little different.  I'm having 80% of my stomach removed, and my life will never be the same.

I guess it'd just be nice to not go through this alone.  Color me dramatic, but that's how I feel.  Please pass the Kleenex.  I'm crying again.

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