Today I had a notification on my phone from Facebook.
It marks 7 years to the day that I got a letter saying when my first major operation at King’s would be.
It was going to be on the 18th January 2013. Its a date that I will probably never forget.
The day I got the letter, I had gone out shopping with a friend. We had such a good time. I forgot about all that had happened the past few months and forgot that I was actually quite poorly.
I got home, sat down, and was given an envelope by my parents. They sat down with me as I opened it. They knew what it was. And deep down, I did too.
I opened the letter shakily and read every line.
I found out when the operation will be, what tests I’ll have beforehand and what to bring with me to the ward as I was going to be an inpatient for a while.
I read it carefully over and over. It couldn’t sink it. I felt numb. I was just like “oh okay” and then carried on my day. My parents were ready to reassure me but didn’t seem to need to at that stage.
I just thought.. it is what it is.
However later on that day, It finally did sink in. I was talking about it with my dad. The more I talked about it, the more real it became. This wasn’t all one big joke nor was it a dream.
It was real life. I was going for major surgery for the first time in 15 years. And this time I would know what was going on. I would be putting my life in someone else’s hands.
I suddenly started feeling sick and breathless. I started crying and said “Dad I’m scared”. He hugged and reassured me that everything was going to be okay. He and mum was scared too, but they also knew I was in good hands.
This was going to happen, it had to happen. I had no choice.