Today is Monday. My operation is Friday. Houston, we have a problem.
I am sick. It started Saturday. The evil virus that attacked my middle child last week has now attacked Mommy. My throat is sore, my nose is stuffy, my head is pounding. My body feels malaised. (Is malaised a word? Well, it sounds better than 'shitty', so it is now).
In my '7-day pre-op' literature it says explicitly: No medicine other than Tylenol. No cold or congestion medicines. And the kicker. "Report any cold symptoms to the Doctor, as we will want to re-schedule your surgery for when you are better."
Welcome to worst-case-scenario time. My husband has to schedule his vacation way ahead of time, and my sister-in-law has already paid for a flight to come help me out two weeks after surgery. Rescheduling is simply not an option.
It is Monday, and I'm on day three of the death virus. My throat feels better, but my body mailaisyness feels much worse. (There's another new word for you. You're welcome).
I am going to give it two more days. If I'm better on Wednesday, we're good. If not, it's time to figure out a plan B.
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