Most of the time, I am the epitome of optimism. I’ve been accused of being a “Pollyanna” a time or two. I find I’ve written about “hope” at least twenty times since starting this blog six years ago. Often I think I see the world “through rose colored glasses.”

But today I’m feeling mortal, fallible, vulnerable. I’m having surgery and maybe I’m just a little bit scared. Today I’m closer to a curmudgeon than a Pollyanna.

The problem is that I had too long to think about this. I got a diagnosis in early January, confirmation in early March and was scheduled to go under the knife right away. I decided to seek the opinion of another surgeon. He wasn’t in such a hurry.

So I Googled the proposed surgery and watched it on YouTube. That made me waffle every hour for a few days! I read medical websites and perused horror stories in chat rooms of people who’ve been through something similar.

I asked my friends. My doctor is going to do X, Y & Z. Oh, lots of them have had X and “it’s a piece of cake.” Several have had X and Y and “it’s not that bad, really.” Every last one of them said, “You’ll feel so much better!” Finally, last night, a friend told me her friend had X, Y & Z and “it was pretty rough.” Finally—an honest woman!

I’ve done all the last-minute housework I can think of. The laundry is all done. I’ve grocery shopped three times. The plants are over watered. The cat is in my husband’s capable hands. I have medicine and soup for recovery.

This morning I’m giving my sweet life partner last-minute instructions, should I not ever wake up. I’m getting weird and thinking I don’t have to sign the waivers; I could still back out.

At this last hour, I’m looking for my Pollyanna again. She is of the mind that Heaven is a better place, after all!

I do wonder what I’ll be writing about next time and how long before I’ll feel like sitting at a computer again.