Three Days Left
Three days left until deep brain stimulation (DBS). Until this week I think I was pretty calm and reasonably stressed. This week I admit I am very nervous. The warning signs are predictable: non-stop talking to anyone who will listen, eating everything in sight, and my mind wildly racing. Any one of these is enough to annoy and alienate my friends and family. All three together…
I have admiration for anyone patient enough to have a conversation with me this week. I talk incessantly, cut people off mid-sentence and ignore social cues. I know it is happening. I can’t stop it. Yesterday I was on the phone and the other person said “I got to go” three times. Each time I said OK and just kept on talking. I can be talkative, but this doesn’t compare. Seriously, I will talk about anything and everything all at once.
I am a nervous eater. I watch what I eat, but no food is safe around me when I am nervous. Look out fish sticks, taquitos, and pot stickers trying to hide in the freezer. My anxious stomach is reminding me about the ice cream next to the other tempting foods. The frozen, creamy, vanilla dairy confection says to me, “It’s going to be OK, Steve… have another fish stick.” The biggest problem with this is that all foods that I mention here belong to my housemates.
If talking to you incessantly and eating all of your food hasn’t alienated you then what is in my head might blow your mind. My thoughts are jumping around from one topic to another. It seems I have a thought and then it disappears. This morning my phone alarm went off, reminding me to take my medication. I grab the phone, alarms still ringing, and “11 AM medications” on the screen. I get halfway across room, and forgot what I was doing. I have spent half my day writing this and the other half trying to remember what I was thinking, writing or doing at any given time.
I know I am doing my best to cope with my anxiety about the surgery on Friday. But it’s only Tuesday and I could still damage friendships and family ties. I know the surgery has a high success rate, the surgeon is the best, and everyone is behind me. All of this should give me some relief from the my anxiety. Why can’t I just let the stuff go? Maybe my brain is not wired that way.
