I definitely have my moments of, "Not again..." (usually when I'm just falling asleep late at night) or sometimes, "Oh shit..." (this is usually when I'm halfway between work and home and have to immediately use the restroom). This weekend has been particularly trying as I've been running to the loo since Friday afternoon (suspiciously since the time of my work's cook-off; I'm guessing there was definitely some tampering with food since the competition is so high-stakes and all, I mean, we give out wooden spoons with ribbons tied on them for gosh sakes!).
I saw my surgeon a few weeks ago for a follow-up. Upon him walking into the examination room, I said I was feeling great, this is all just a formality (right?), and what time is your last patient because you're looking ridiculously dashing today (fine! I did not say that).
A few minutes later, when he was inspecting my incision site, I mentioned I was feeling a bit crampy. "You just said you were great," he replied. I told him yes, I am, but sometimes I have cramps. He asked if I needed the Percocet. I told him it was nothing like that, just subtle. He laughed and looked at me. "You're fine."
This is the thing: I have minor cramping, and a lot of phantom pain. After every twinge of discomfort, no matter how small, I hold my breath and wait. Did it go away? Is it all happening again? Was my surgery for nothing? Is there some way to get a new immune system? My can't intestines regenerate like worms? (Well, I think most of these things.)
But I suppose that is no way to live; I'm neurotic enough as it is, why add this to the mix? I have better things to worry about, namely, what are we going to have for dinner tomorrow night, and what the heck is Matt doing now?