Surgery central

Far be it from me to bother you with inane details pertaining to my life but sometimes I seem to be able to wrap my mind better around something when I actually write it out.

For some time now, my beloved so has been acting like a fire-spewing creature straight out of the dragon's den. No, menopause has not hit with a vengeance yet, thankfully. Unfortunately she too has had to hop on to the surgery bandwagon and will have to undergo some pretty invasive muck-raking surgery in the spring, followed by 8 weeks or more of recovery.

I am trying to ignore the ramifications of this decision. However, at the end of the day I find myself being terrified by the fact that somebody who is basically a paragon of health (well, sorta) will be knocked out for such a long time. I don't like illness, I hate hospitals and I despise medical practitioners for their lack of communication skills. So, here is our bump on the road: I am terrified of the idea that she is putting her life into someone else's hands (the dreadest anaesthesia), horrified at the idea that they might find something else while they're in there, and I think of the recovery period as filled with gloom, doom and a lot of pain. I suppose that by now, you might have gleaned that I'm the half-empty glass type of personality.

So this is my current mood:


And for those who like men in drag, and a more contemporary voice singing the same lyrics: