Mission Impossible

A vessel the length of my index finger that my thumb will only just fit in.

I am supposed to pee in it.

The indignity.

in 14 days I will be in recovery. Hopefully.

I am pondering many things right now. Having many 'life, the universe and everything' moments. Pondering on the decisions, events and people that have got me to 39 years and 8 months, what I have to show for my life so far, the things I am proud of, the things I am frustrated about.

I thing I am just pondering on what it means to be me - and fearing that, like anyone else, very few people know me, all of my facets, all of the things that have shaped me, formed my opinions, fuelled my fears.

Trying to unravel the thoughts in my head is equally another Mission Impossible.

I do know that I am becoming increasingly scared. It's too easy to say "routine procedure" or "it's only investigative"...it's what they find and what the next steps are that are of more concern to me. Moreover, the impact that this procedure is going to have on the people around me who are going to have to pitch in, put up with me (whining no doubt), step in to fill my shoes whilst I am absent from work and for the children at work who will probably not notice my absence in any real sense but who I feel I am letting down by not being there to chivvy them along.

I am also feeling a bit dazed by the Mission Impossible that is sometimes presented when a young person has built a wall so tall, so impenetrable, so frustratingly hard to chip away at, that all I am able to do is feel sad that ambition, a desire to be successful and to contribute in some way do not form part of the person's vision of where they want to be. It is rare for me to encounter such obstinate refusal to admit that they are 'bothered' that when that attitude does sit across the desk from me, it is staggering and heart breaking. Doesn't stop the determination to try to do something about it, but it is so sad.