Flummoxed

I'm looking at my calendar and feeling overwhelmed by how much I need to get done in the next few weeks to get my ducks in a row for surgery which is only 2 1/2 weeks away. Here in my parallel, universe, I've ordered my "mastectomy post-op camisole". An "attractive" little garment that includes inside pockets for fake foam boobies {in my case, protective foam cat shields}, but more importantly inside pockets to hold the drains that will be attached to me for a week the contents of which needing to be measured and disposed of. Also a velcro front closure disguised by feminine lace for easy access. A lovely way to spend $55.

If this were a friend going through this, I'd be a great go-to person to devise a plan, a schedule, who needs to do what... I'd know what they needed. But when it's me, I'm flummoxed. I can't foresee how many days I won't be able to care for the kids here, how many days do I have to hit their dad up to have them, where will little dude go after school, so many calls to make and things to schedule. Cancer is a full-time job.

My mind is dense, can't think creatively, can't foresee the situation, I wish they'd just keep me in the hospital. All I can see is the immediate, the tall boy on the floor patiently waiting for pancakes, and even then, I'm not all that motivated.