Last week I was 99% sure I would consent to the surgery we discussed with the fertility specialist. Today I am 90% sure. It seems to depend upon the day or perhaps the hour or the minute. I am not sure.
The golden carrot dangling before me is that this whole ordeal could result in another pregnancy. And that is an intriguing possibility.
One of the reasons I cringe a little when I think of surgery is my previous tendency toward hypochondria. I do not think I am a hypochondriac today (although some might debate that statement). I am pretty good at recognizing the signs now and buffet it by allowing myself to conceive of how utterly ridiculous these thoughts would seem to anyone else. Take for example the last time I had a fever. I entertained for a few minutes the possibility that my fever, muscle pain and lethargy were attributed to some sort of encephalitis but then I remembered that my son had the same symptoms the week before. And also I had not been bitten by any mosquitoes lately. At that moment I realized that actually mentioning this thought activity to my husband would send him into a fit of laughter. It was at that point I decided that I was probably over-reacting. And as it turns out, I was right.
That being said, there is a very good chance that my upcoming surgery and recovery will not include significant loss of blood, infection caused by flesh eating bacteria, medical malpractice, disfigurement or death. There, I feel better already.
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