Every time my nose feels itchy and stinging, I’m seized by immense fear. I paid money. I handed over my life. It feels like I’m living with a bomb placed on my face.
During surgery. My limbs were tied down. My hair was tied, too. With a chest support inserted, in a state where it was hard to breathe, I was left there for thirty minutes. Without anesthesia. Alone. Just as panic was about to set in, I was anesthetized.
Surgery is so frightening. I feel as if I’ve become a patient with aftereffects of torture.
Today, again, searching for one positive word. Wandering through pain that no one understands. I’m searching the internet.
I found one. Me too. I too. I want to become a great-aunt who is 40 years post-op.
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