Battle in the mind: Fear. Very fitting for me this week.

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D-DAY T-Minus 10 Days

Well I am now officially, well and truly shitting my pants. The hospital have just called me and given me a date for my pre-op assessment on the 16th July and the date for the actual procedure on the 21st of July at the royal London. I am more nervous than a sex offender at a nudist beach. On the one hand its good because it gets it over and done with and I can get back on track to having some kind of normal life. On the other hand, I just really am not looking forward to the whole series of events, being cut open, catheters etc. I’m not particularly vain at all but I keep looking at myself in a mirror and realise that, well in 10 days time, I won’t look like that ever again. Not that it’s a bad thing, just different. I don’t know, maybe on some level I am resentful, why me? etc. but you can’t sit around and bitch and moan otherwise that’s all we would spend our lives doing. Time to get my head down and crack on.

“Courage is not the absence of fear but the judgment that something else is more important than fear. The brave may not live forever but the cautious do not live at all. For now you are traveling the road between who you think you are and who you can be.”

It’s always darkest before the dawn.

Do you find some days everything just gets to you? You just are having “one of those days”? I’ve been sat for the last 2 hours researching every possible way I could try and blag my way into the army. It’s not going to happen, unless I can somehow blag to be the first test case for someone with an ostomy and crohn’s to try and join. What do you do when your told the one job you have wanted to do all your life is now off the table? Ever since I was a kid all I wanted to do was join up, the only reason I went to uni was to join as an officer. I don’t know. Guess it just wasn’t meant to be.

Some days it just really gets to me. I fucking hate this disease with every fibre of my being, I resent the fact I’m being forced to have surgery at 24 fucking years old! I know that it’s not the end of the world and that it could be a shit lot worse but some days I get fed up with smiling, joking and accepting it. I fucking hate this illness, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, not even my worst enemy. Sat on my bed at 24 years old, not able to work, get out of breath walking 2 minutes round the corner, waiting for an operation that might be in 6 weeks if I’m lucky. I did not picture my life turning out like this. All it has done is cripple me. I’m not the same person I was 7 years ago. I look at these people that hammer on with their illnesses and do amazing things and get on with life, but I physically cannot do that. THAT is what I hate more than anything!

On the one had I want this surgery over and done with because hopefully it should give me some semblance of a normal life back, however at the same time, I’m still furious I even have to have it in the first place. So fucked off with life. To top it all off I have run out some medication, my own fault not being organised. It’s not going to be ready till Saturday so I have another 2 days on top of the last 2 of withdrawal, meaning the most horrendous nightmares every night waking up caked in sweat. My own fault though. You would think I’d learn but this is about the 4th or 5th time I’ve done it.

Tomorrow I should be back to my perky cheerful self, but every now and then you have days like these. Got to keep soldiering on.

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