Surgery Countdown

What's really on my mind this morning, and has been all night, to the point that even half of a xanax, normally my sure-fire sleep assist, didn't work until I doubled it, is my upcoming surgery. The last time I had surgery I was in my young strong 20s, and the incision, being at the throat, did not impede my movements or ability to live normally, even before the staple removal.  But this is different. I'm a tired late-40-er and this surgery carries a long recovery time, with the early days, I'm told,  being particularly challenging in the mobility department.  In short, I am afraid, to paraphrase Prufrock, not about the procedure itself (I'll be anesthetized--ooh, another Prufrockian connection) or the competence of the surgeon (he's been doing this for over-20 years), or even the pain (OK, a little about the post-operative pain), but mostly about the aftermath during which I'm told I will require a lot of help doing things such as, er, getting out of bed?  Walking?  I find this terrifying.  

But why? Before facing this, I never considered myself such an independent person. As I see now, however, this is because I clearly avoided the facts: I've been single since 1990.  My job is mostly autonomous, and as a single mother by choice, these past 15 years of parenting have also been ones solely in my purview.  Which is not to say that I haven't had lots of help and support from family, friends, colleagues, excellent teachers, after care directors and counselors, a wonderful pediatrician, and so on, but simply that the decisions and day-to-day management of things have been mine. When I travel, I travel alone, or with my child.  When I bought the house, I bought it alone, as well as the various cars over the years.  All of the little day-to-day decisions, and all of the big a-few-in-a-lifetime ones also fall to me, and now that I think about not being able to execute these, to maintain my same routines, to DO everything that I normally do, I feel scared.  

Losing my independence, the thought of having to ask for, as a friend who herself had this surgery some years ago said, a glass of water because getting up to get one for myself will be too daunting, leaves me shaken.  And I have until only June 2nd to somehow accept it.