The "why me"s, fear, and other fun stuff

I have my first follow-up appointment with my neurosurgeon on Tuesday, preceded by a CT scan (no MRI, thank God...I have grown to hate those things). It was actually supposed to be the following Tuesday, but the doctors decided to move it up a week because one of my stitches was infected (I think it's gone now).

Real phone conversation to the neurosurgery resident:

Me: I'm a little concerned because the bottom of my scar is infected, and even though I'm taking antibiotics for it, it's pretty close to the bone. I just don't want it to spread or anything.
Doctor: Is it draining?
Me: Um...no.
Doctor: Does it drain if you squeeze it?
Me: I...don't...think...so?
Doctor [nonchalantly]: Well, you're welcome to come to the ER...

Yeah, that's quite alright, thanks. But anyway.

I didn't really have a lot of time to feel sorry for myself while I was in the hospital, simply because everything happened so fast. The doctors were very matter-of-fact, told me what was wrong, and then told me what they were going to do about it. I was certainly afraid, believe me, but I think a lot of me had accepted the situation for what it was. And, really, spending my time questioning why this was happening to me was pretty futile. Some grand karmic retribution for a past life? Or maybe God just hates me...

One of the most important lessons I've learned over the past month is that shit happens. To everyone. If God hates me, then God hates everybody else, too. And I really don't think that's the case.

The fear, though, they "why me"s came over me the day before surgery, when the doctor came into my room to discuss the surgery with my family and me. He told us the risks: bleeding, infection, and stroke. The first two I could handle. I had internally acknowledged those particular risks, but stroke? Of course. It's always a possibility when you're dealing with the brain, but I hadn't really thought about it. And then I lost it. What if I was not myself after the surgery? What if something happened, and I was simply, fundamentally not me? I realized then that my biggest fear about this surgery was not of dying, but of living as something other than who I was.

Now, a month later with this neurosurgery appointment looming, my fears have shifted as I've begun to process this whole experience. The questions are circling: Will this thing grow back? Will I need a shunt? How is this going to influence the rest of my life? Are my hypothetical children more susceptible to this because of a genetic predisposition? What if the CT scan isn't normal?

I know I can't live my life this way. Tomorrow isn't guaranteed for anyone, and spending my time worrying about what will happen is only going to frighten my today. It's hard, though, especially right now. Going to the doctor is a scary prospect, considering the last time I went they immediately admitted me to the hospital. The fear will wear off, I hope, as this becomes a part of my life. Even still, I'm freaked out. Cross your fingers for Tuesday.