It's just one of those days. The closer I get to the surgery date (August 3), the crazier I get. Up until the past couple of days, I've been more than capable of distracting myself from The Breast issue. Every once in a while, when I found myself at a loss for something to amuse myself with, I'd have a tiny anxiety attack. I'm fairly well medicated (by a licensed physician), so I've had a little help in preventing myself from collapsing into a fetal position and drooling on the carpet. I've also just got exceptional skills in that area, honed from years and years of living in The Original Crazy Land with my parents.
All day today, I've been incapable of determining whether anything I've said makes sense. I'll be having a conversation with someone about The Breast or about something completely unrelated and it dawns on me that I may be incomprehensible. I had a long telephone conversation with my therapist today and, somewhere in the middle, it occurred to me that we were probably not talking about the same thing.
I keep asking people, "Does that make sense?" Heaven only knows what they think. I'm not generally all that concerned about my ability to be clear with people. At this point, though, if I don't check, I have no idea whether the internal dialog is bleeding over into the external dialog. I don't know...does that make sense?
There's much more to the whole hospital story, but I don't think today is the right day to tell it. I can only hope that, by tomorrow morning, I'll still remember my name and how to drive myself to work. Putting nouns and verbs together in a coherent manner may beyond my capability, though.
