frankenstein in biopsyland

i arrived at Sibley Hospital at 10:45 yesterday since they told me to arrive at 11 for 1:00 surgery. why? i couldn't tell you. it is beyond freezing in there — i even hear the receptionist yelling at someone on the phone to fix the A/C. it is so cold that even my polar bear-like BS is cold, and you know when HE is cold, we must be in the fucking Arctic. anyway, after waiting until 12:40, they finally took me. v. annoyed about this, but there isn't much you can do in biopsyland. i did get a giggle, however, at the fact that this place where i was getting my lumps removed is the Cosmetic Surgery surgery. so it says on the myriad pieces of paper i had to sign. reading this, i of course had to ask the lady at reception whether i could get a few other things done while i am here. she laughed at me. oh well.

anyway, i get my gown on, ties-in-the-back-please, and they let BS come and hang out with me while the Physician's Assistant and a variety of nurses come back to talk to me, attach electrodes to me, and generally fail at finding a vein for my IV. (everyone does.) even the anesthesiologist comes by, and after a small effort to look for my veins, which apparently, i have left home, she tells me she will look for them in the OR. i can hardly wait. i inform them that my career as an IV Drug user would be a total bust, and i inform them i will think of another career possibility besides that of heroin addict.

ok, does ANYONE have a sense of humor in the hospital?

anyway, the funniest moment for me had to be when BS and i were waiting, and i had that pulse thing clipped to my pointer finger. Boop, Boop, Boop – that was my pulse we heard, but it sounded like Pong to us. so i first pretended that my finger was a Pong paddle, and i moved it up and down as if i were playing the tennis-like pasttime. then, BS says “Breakout!” and for those of you old enough to remember that video game, i pointed my finger horizontally and pretended to be the paddle in that game. ok,ok, so you do silly things when you are scared. but it was better than completely dissolving into tears, which i very nearly did a few times.

anyway, it was time to say goodbye to BS, and then i of course started to cry, wimp that i am. but i stopped it quickly enough, too, as these nurses were going to have to help me when the time came and i didn't want to annoy them unduly in advance. we get into the OR, and my surgeon is right there, singing along to what i think is lucinda williams. not bad, but not what i want to hear. so jokingly, i said, “hey, do you take requests in the OR?” the surgeon and nurses cracked up, and my surgeon said, “hey, if we have it, you can hear it!” and i said, well, actually, you have to do the heavy lifting, so i completely understand if you want to pick the music.” she said, “oh, no, like i said, i like what we have here. what do you like?”

i smiled. “when i had my daughter, i had to get special permission to bring in my boombox so i could have music playing. i thought it would make me not need an epidural.” (everyone laughed; some of the nurses were on loan from the OB dept.) “my daughter was born to bob marley's “Legend” album.”

a nurse went rifling for only about 30 seconds and then next thing i hear is “is this love.” my heart soared. i looked at my surgeon and she smiled at me. then, i had to ask, “aren't you lucky i didn't ask for the sex pistols?” she cracked up. finally, someone has a sense of humor. at this point, the anesthesiologist comes around and starts poking and prodding. i told her to let me know before she actually puts the needle in, as she found a teeny-tiny vein. (i guess that's why they get the big bucks.) my surgeon held my hand and let me squeeze hers for all it was worth while the needle went in. and within seconds, it was ok. they asked me to sit up, and since my arms were strapped in, i sat up and unleashed them and announced, “geez, i feel like frankenstein breaking off the table.”

that's the last thing i remember šŸ˜‰

determined to wake up quickly so that we could get to pick up BC at daycare in time, i awoke at 2:00. considering my surgery started at 1:30ish, i wasn't out for long and i think i surprised the recovery nurse. i knew everything was going to be alright, though, as the recovery nurse has the same last name as my dear friend karin, who is also a kick-ass nurse. i believe in signs, and that to me was one of the best and strongest signs i think i could get. nothing keeps me from food, and since i had not eaten since, well, since about 8pm the night before, i was fucking famished. they gave me a slushy cranberry juice and a nearly-frozen bagel with cream cheese. to me, it was food of the gods. the nurse had brought BS to come and see me – i think they were a little surprised that i was up already. but even subconsciously nothing, and i do mean nothing, could keep me from worrying about my bunnygirl. i wanted to make sure that things stayed as close to the regularly scheduled program for her. make it safe and easy and nice. that's what moms (and dads) do.

the surgeon came around and told me that she mostly found fibrous tissue and fatty tissue, and to her, everything looked ok. i have to wait a few days before we get the pathology report, but considering how many blessed tumors this chick pulls out every week, i think she probably knows whats what.

i am jubilant.

having darvocet to take probably helps in the jubilation department.

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