Part 2, Ugh

So I am about 12 hours away from this hideous procedure. You know it's bad when the RE tells you ahead of time. His phrase of "excruciating hell" keeps bouncing around in my already overtaxed brain.

I was emotionally spent from the home study this afternoon, and did not really feel like hauling ass to the Y afterwards. But watching Oprah interview formerly fat people motivated me. So did the knowledge that after tomorrow I will have to take a few days off from working out, since my whole va-jay-jay region (yes, taking this word straight from the vocabulary of the t.v. show "Grey's Anatomy") is going to be in "some pain." I hate that. I resent not being able to engage in something that helps me relieve stress, improves my mood, and lets me have some measure of control over my body.

Tonight, once again, sleeping in the Marines t-shirt. More channeling of tough guys: Dad, Noah, Col. Hunt, Mitch Rapp (don't care if he's fictional), and my hairstylist Shannen (who's been three, done that, and never flinches when I admit being scared or start to cry).

Dig deep, chickie poo.