Yes, that's right. I did it again.

My name is S-P-A-Z. But I am trying not to be. Seriously.trying.not.to.be.a.spaz. All efforts are futile. The sensible side of me is powerless against the crazy side. The more I try NOT to think about the surgery = the more I DO think about the surgery. It’s like a psychological bitch slap. You know you’re circling the drain when you wind up on Google. Google is the beginning of the end. When you find yourself making a Google search you know you have crossed the line, you’ve gone too far. You will regret it when you are on the floor crying in the fetal position in the corner of your office. Your co-workers walk by and say, Uh oh, she did it again. Yes friends, yes she did.
Reading statistics on pregnancy post endo surgery, complications from endo surgery, the reasons why endo can cause infertility, and why those reasons may not be corrected with surgery.
Basically, as eager as I was to put my uterus on display again, I am now having tormented second thoughts. I want them to look into my uterus, obtain a full report on what is going on in there, then allow me to wake up and make a sane educated decision on the future of my uterus. Because after all, my Google, M.D. has given me the knowledge to make such decisions.
I don’t want to get myself started on a Resident doing my surgery, but I digress. I’m already there, circling the drain again. I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw a fit in the hospital and demand that the Resident be there for instructional viewing purposes only. This said Resident will not play an instrumental role. Period. I should bring my Googled literature with highlighted segments about how complex the surgery can be. I will absolutely not have someone with training wheels on be removing adhesions from my still suffering from post traumatic stress disorder uterus. Uhnothankyouma’am.
I’ve got myself all nerved up. ithinki’mgoingtocrapmypants.