Jan. 5: Like a Boy Scout

It’s just a few more days until my surgery. Good thing, too; my belly’s been hurting more than usual this week. It’s probably because I know it’s just about to be taken care of, or at least that’s what I’ve chosen to believe.

I’m getting kind of nervous, as I think anyone would be going into something like this (except the surgeon, I hope). I’m sure everything will go just fine—statistics show they usually do—but if I let my mind wander… well, yikes. The ideal situation would be that I’m blissfully unaware during the actual surgery, recover easily, and wake up pain-free and with bigger boobs. Oh, and the tumor would be nothing but a mass of scar tissue or something else harmless, as the surgeon expects.

A dear, sweet, caring friend with nothing but the best intentions told me a story in which a woman had a tumor removed that turned out to be a giant hairball. I know, I know; I’m seriously considering her for the ex-friend list now (that means you, too, Corinne). So in an effort to prepare myself for however the surgery turns out and whatever the tumor ends up being, I’ve been making a list of all the things that could possibly happen.

• It could be a giant hairball
  
• It could be a tiny hairball. (I’m thinking neither of these are likely, as I avoid eating and injecting hair under my skin as much as possible.)
  
• It will be a sponge or surgical instrument left in there from when Jack was born. Oh, that might be kinda cool! Lawsuit!
  
• It’ll turn out to be a piece of that crayon I swallowed when I was three years old.
  
• It’ll turn out to be a sliver of the pencil Kathy stabbed me with when she was ten and found out I’d been reading her diary.
  
• It could be a body part, like an ear or hand or something, and I’ll get on the news as some freak who nobody would listen to when she complained about the pain and IS IT ANY WONDER SHE WAS IN SO MUCH PAIN? And they they’ll use my body to grow junk for other people and I’ll be really important and then people will owe me big! (Sorry, I went all George Costanza there for a sec.)
  
• It’ll be a rogue Skallop™
  
• The surgical team will come to me afterward and say, “Ma’am, this whole thing could have been avoided if you just moisturized regularly.”

Whatever happens, however good or bad the outcome is, I better get some damn pampering and sympathy from the husband.

Feel free to add to my list. Pretend it’s for my benefit, even though I know you’re just going to giggle and go nuts trying to scare me. Cuz that’s how ya are.