I've been complaining for weeks about not hearing from Dr. Kronowitz to set a surgery date. Yesterday, Brenda left a message on the machine requesting that I call her to discuss Dr. K's schedule. I was immediately plunged into depression.
I don't have to do this. I could allow the necrotic tissue to remain. Dr. Kronowitz suggested doing some scar revision on the tummy tuck. He said the scars might come back, though, and it will definitely be painful. I tried to think clearly about it last night, to determine whether I'd be sorry if I didn't do either one.
The brain was already hunkered down, trying to steel the body for the coming onslaught. I'm familiar with the mental strength that must be marshaled to get through the pain, though it most certainly will be pain of a variety I've already experienced.
At this moment, I don't think I can stand another abdominal surgery. Certainly a few more steroid injections might help with the pain I still experience over both of my hips. I plan to ask Brenda about whether surgery ultimately will be more efficacious in resolving this chronic pain. My guess is that it won't.
I can't speculate on how much of a toll surgery will take on my energy level, which is being managed relatively well with Ritalin. I need to carry on with my life and that requires that I'm not burdened with insurmountable fatigue.
I've worked so hard the past several months to regain strength, stamina and mobility. I wonder how much will remain after the surgery. Of course, I will start rebuilding again as soon as I'm able. Right now, I need to come to terms with the loss.
I can elect to move on and leave things as they are. I regularly remind myself of that fact. Just as regularly, my thought process shuts down. I know I will have the necrotic tissue removed. I like to think that in the dissociative silence settling over me that my brain is sending messages to this body beaten down by three years of medical assault. It's reminding the body that I can get through this.