And today it begins.

In the midst of all of the chaos of getting ready to leave for Ireland in the morning; grocery shopping, final mental checklists, and chasing a very cranky Katy, I got a call to let me know that I finally have a surgery date. I've known for a few days that I was approved but the insurance company (in its infinite wisdom) had already scheduled me to have surgery next week without consulting me. There were two major things wrong with that. First, it was less than a weeks notice for major surgery and second, I'll be in Ireland.

So, December 10 it is. Well, technically. The woman explained that December 10 is my pre-op and December 11 will be the actual surgery. I've shot off an email to someone I know who has had the surgery locally with the same doctor to answer some of my questions about how that first day will progress.

The timing should be very good since Ryan will take that week off to take care of Katy and my Mom is flying in for 10 days the week after that. I'll only have a few "uncovered" days to worry about how I'll take care of Katy on my own.

I'm still battling with the decision to "go public" with my decision to have surgery. The very private part of me wants to keep it just that, very private. But, on the other hand, I know that this will be a real strain both emotionally and physically and I could use all the support the world can offer. I've told so few people at this point that I can count them on one hand. Ryan keeps pointing out that people are going to figure it out eventually, which is potentially true. I guess it just makes me feel like a failure to have surgery, and that's my own mental issue that I need to get over. I WILL need help in the hospital so I'll have to find people to come and sit with me and help me out. It's just not possible for Ryan to do it all.

Ahh, Ryan. I want to cry just sitting here thinking about how incredible he is. At first he was understandably nervous about me having this surgery. But, he sees how much pain my ankles cause me and sees how frustrated I am that I can't "keep up" when they hurt. He just wants me to feel healthy and feel good about myself again. I know he'll be my number one cheerleader throughout this process.

This is a good start. When I get back from Ireland I'm sure I'll have a lot more thoughts because I'll have had time wrap my brain around the entire process.