When I got out of the shower this morning, I didn’t put on moisturizer or deodorant or makeup. I skipped breakfast and removed my wedding ring. In a few hours, I will be laid out on an operating table, and a surgeon will do his best to repair the havoc left behind by my three babies.
I am, of course, scared and still questioning whether I should have this tummy tuck. I don’t like the term and its implications of vanity. Really, I am having this done because my abdominals divorced long ago, and I now have a hernia. Only a thin layer of skin is keeping my intestines inside my body. Three different doctors have told me, without any prompting on my part, that I need this surgery.
I’m trying to tamp down my feelings about being done with the baby phase and also about erasing the marks of carrying my children. And when I’m crying in pain afterward (And, oh, there will be pain!), some of it will be emotional, too. I didn’t give much thought to the surgery date, but it is fitting that this comes the day before Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day.
Greg will be lighting a candle tomorrow night, and I will be lying in bed probably feeling sorry for myself. And if I’m at all coherent, I will be thinking of all the other families on this journey with me.