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“Ninja Worry….”

Ninja_Gaiden_big1….it’s like regular worry, but it sneaks up behind you and severs all things “reality” with a good ass-kicking of anxiety all up in your business.

Anxiety makes my IBS go  haywire.

I hate you, Ninjas.

My husband is having a surgery to correct musculature in behind his eyes today. Pretty cool what medical surgeons can do with little itty bitty things like nerves and tendons and ligaments and stuff.

What is NOT cool is my anxiety today, regarding said surgery.

I did not sleep last night. At. All. I really should have just gotten back up and done something productive, like watch Dr. Who.

But I didn’t. It’s not my surgery, what the hell is my problem?

I’ve been thinking about it all day. It is currently 2 p.m. He’s already out (barring any schedule delays) and who knows….maybe even having the fine adjustments done at the eye clinic. Dunno.

So I thought bad things. I thought my anxiety was caused by jealousy.


Because I go through all that I do, regularly, and no one bats an eye (pun *totally* intended). I piss in a cup, have multiple blood draws, EKG’s (or is it “ECG’s”??), watch my numbers increase where they shouldn’t, decrease where they shouldn’t….

He gets bandages, maybe a killer  headache, and his eyes will be fixed forever.

Then, I thought my anxiety was caused by envy. I wear glasses. I’d love to have that laser Lasik surgery done, and be finished with the Sjogren’s tearing my eyes up (though that is a paid-for surgery…cosmetic…this is necessary and covered).

Then, I thought maybe I was being anxious because I was feeling guilty for feeling….dare I say…”selfish.” Today came around because of a cancellation, otherwise, he wasn’t going to be seen until the fall. THEN, my younglings’ father is at a sleep clinic tonight (on his weekend, no less) he’d neglected to tell me about until a couple of days ago….

How am *I* left scrambling to figure out the logistics of managing a PD Day for the daycare girls, my husband’s surgery and the children?! How am *I* left fending for myself for hauling groceries and 7 pound bags of flour less than a month after a heart attack? How am *I* left, the day before I’m going a day-long scrapbooking crop, to figure out the logistics of the cosmos for the morning switch-off to the ex, whilst my husband comes out of his trauma, and try to leave for something that *I* had booked, first!?!?


Then, I thought that perhaps it was because of COURSE my cycle started today that perhaps I might just be hormonal and emotional and oh-I-forgot-to-mention *deliriously exhausted* and want to crawl in a hole and cry?

Then, I thought that maybe it was just the aggregate of the EVERYTHING that makes for the made-for-tv-movie version of the chaos of my reality.

Then, it hit me.

Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Him.

He is not used to pain. He is not used to hospitals. He is not used to discomfort and the unknown and the anxiety. He is not used to all things medical and procedure.

Leggo My Eggo, Bitch.

And I can’t do a damn thing about it. No caring, no support, no holding, no relieving-of-stress….no rubbing, no touching, no “seeing-is-believing-that-he-is-okay.”

I have to wait.

It is not in my control. ( <—- my life coach will love that part)

I do not like when things are not in my control. *AngryBrynn*

However, knowing this, I can focus on the things I need to focus on: picking up my children from the bus stop…making snacks…eating chocolate (I swear if you tell my endo I will bitchslap you six ways into next Thursday).

I never realized just how much I want to protect my husband from all things “pain”…the very thing that touches my body every day.


Take THAT, you bastardly Ninjas.


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