Under the knife

Tomorrow I have surgery to put the Port-a-Cath in my chest. This is the first surgery I've ever had. Well, OK, I had an ingrown toenail removed when I was like 12, but that was just a local and some scissors (yes, it was performed by a doctor).

I'm a bit nervous about it. What if something goes wrong with the anesthetic? What if she hits the wrong blood vessel? What if my lung collapses? I know I really shouldn't be worried. My surgeon is great. She's been straightforward and comforting at the same time, and a handful of people have told me she's a great surgeon, too. It's probably just because it's the first time I've undergone surgery that I have these fears.

I don't go in until noon. Can't eat after 4 a.m., so I might get up around 2 a.m. and have a big breakfast and drink lots of water. At least it's supposed to be cool tomorrow (in the 70s as compared to the 100+ degrees we've been having) and I'll get to enjoy it some.

Wednesday's the MRI. Maybe I can keep the earplugs and sleep with them so Dad's coughing, throat clearing and other biological noises don't keep me up at night. He's just been living alone for too long to be a good guest.

We had a heck of a rain awhile ago. One minute it was a nice shower, and then all of a sudden, we could barely see across the street! Maybe the creek will come up a bit. I wish I'd gotten around to getting a rain barrel or two put up at the downspouts. It'd be nice to save some of that water for the gardens when it gets hot again, and it will.

E-mailed some folks today about the cancer news. Got a response from a former boss saying a Carmen Miranda headdress would be nice if I lose my hair. Just because you said that, DW, I'm going to have to do it! If only for a picture.