Removal

Well, it’s gone.  Little lumpy is no longer a part of my body or my life.

And I’m not the slightest bit sad about it.

Yesterday started out pretty normal – with the exception of the fact that Ammon was home on a weekday – which is always nice.  I had to be to the hospital by 9:30 AM for check in and the surgery was scheduled at 11:30.  I had no idea why there was a 2 hour check in time – seemed a little odd to me, but whatever.  I later found out that they had over 80 people on their schedule for that day – well not my doc, but the entire hospital.  That’s super crazy. (according to my Nurse Estelle anyway).

When we got there they handed us one of those restaurant waiting pagers.  You know the ones you get at places like The Outback and The Cheesecake Factory – the little black square that lights up red when your table is ready?  Ammon and I thought this was clever, but cruel.  I mean, I am not allowed to eat ANYTHING, and now the only thing I’m thinking about is an awesome blossom  and a slice of cheesecake.  Sort of a Pavlovs Dogs response to the pager I think.  At any rate, we sat down and about ten minutes later it went off and I got to go fill out paperwork.

Love the paperwork…and the fact that I had to fill the same paperwork about five times before they actually put me under.  I suppose they want to make sure I give the same answers…

Pre-op prep went quickly.  I had four nurses who were absolutely amazing, hilarious – and oddly enough, shared my same love and complete devotion for Target Stores.  (Who doesn’t???)

Doc came in and signed my boob – because apparently they didn’t want to forget which one – located the lump and circled it…then located a second lump and circled it too…yep a second lump, right next to the first.  Lumpy and Lumpy Jr.  Fabulous. 

The doctor and nurses make me take out my contact lenses, start an IV and the Anesthesiologist comes in and takes a look down my throat.  (Later we realized this should have been a clue that I’d have breathing tube shoved down there…but it wasn’t readily apparent to either my husband or I that this was the case.)

They finally come in to take me away (ha ha ho ho) and we’re off.  I meet up with the surgeon (Doc. Smith) and the anesthesiologist in the OR with Estelle, my fabulous nurse.  Doc Smith waves at me from across the room.  I inform him that I am no longer blessed with the gift of sight and he’s going to have to make bigger movements than that.  Next think I know, he’s two inches from my face with his eyes bugged out of his face saying “Is that better?”  I respond “Much – thank you.”  Have I told you how good this doc is at putting me at ease???

They start to give me oxygen, make me recite my full name, doc’s name and surgery type…and then let me know that they are going to give me something to relax (because I’m obviously so stressed out as indicated by the constant jokes being thrown around and laughter…and it wasn’t just me)  At this point they start to read back my paperwork - “You are allergic to chocolate and Morphine”  I tell them that is correct …  Doc then asks - “anything else?”  Yes, as a matter of fact, Stupid People.  At this point doc turns around and changes the song that’s playing on his CD…”Everybody Knows, That The World is Full Of Stupid People” by the Refreshments.  I am sooo in love with this Doc – awesome tunes, and A Bears fan.  Then anesthesia doc tells me that they are going to give me the medication that will make me sleep – he says “It’s gonna burn in the hand a bit…” 

K, here’s where I tell you I went to a few years of nursing school.  Part of this was anatomy classes.  What happened next was not a burning sensation in my hand – rather my face.  It was on fire.  Seriously – like when you burn yourself on the heating element in the oven or by touching a hot pan and then a few hours later expose said burn to hot water…that kind of sensation.  I opened my mouth to tell him it wasn’t my hand that was burning – and that’s the last thing I remember until waking up in recovery – two and one half hours later.

I remember the nurses talking back and forth – apparently they couldn’t find my husband…they called his cell phone and he was in the waiting room – but it was the wrong one.  There are apparently two waiting rooms, and the one he was in (you know, the one closest to the OR) wasn’t the correct one.  Doc Smith went looking for him, but couldn’t find him – so he never actually spoke to the Doc.  All we know at this point is that I woke up, and he took me home.  Not even any care instructions for the wound – nothin’.  Nada. Zilch.  So we are left to our own devices.  Luckily we have a good deal of common sense.

The paperwork we DID get does say that I can shower in T days…whatever that means.  I’m thinking it means I can shower on days that start with T…so today is Thursday, I’m going with that.  The hospital promised to call today and follow up with me.  And with the kind of doc that Doc Smith is, I’m pretty sure that since he didn’t get to talk to Ammon he’ll probably call as well- or at least have my second favorite nurse Dee call.  I also expect  a call from my favorite nurse Jan.  I expect to be pretty popular today.

We should have results in the next few days on whether Lumpy and Lumpy Jr. are sinister twins or simply annoying neighbors.  We’re still going with the mantra – It’s going to be benign.  Period.