Well, well, well.
I got up this morning at 6:45 (an ungodly hour for a college student) and got myself ready for The Day. I picked up Jill in front of her dorm, and the two of us drove to the clinic together. We arrived a couple of minutes early, and I signed in. She ate a cookie. I pouted because I wasn't allowed to eat a cookie (or anything else, for that matter). As per usual, I was handed a pager that started buzzing and blinking a while later. (Those blinkers always make me think of PF Chang's, my favourite restaurant ever. Positive association, but I continue to be disappointed that I am not served coconut curry vegetables with tofu when they lead me away.)
I had been told that they were going to do an ultrasound (again) to determine the exact location of the lumps, so they could make the smallest possible incision and remove them easily. I headed in there cheerfully enough, dreading the cold gel but certainly not worried. Then they pulled out.. what was that?
"Wire," Dr. West explained. "It's to mark where the lumps are, so I know where to cut."
WIRE? I was thinking more... Sharpie. You know, something colourful and NOT WIRE. He injected a bit (not enough) of Novacaine, and I winced and whined (I am ashamed to admit) through the wire-insertion procedure. I don't like needles. I don't like needles under the best of circumstances. I'm chipper and chatty when I give blood, and I do give blood regularly, but I never like it. Wire is not a jot better.
Successfully wired, I trembled out to where Jill waited for me, and whined a bit to her too. Oh, the deception! We then headed next door, to where the surgery itself would be performed. We waited in a room that had decorative lamps. Really. There was no way to turn them on, as there were no outlets. Weird.
After a while, I was whisked back, changed into a robe, and had an IV inserted into my hand (more needles!). They gave me ugly grey socks that I think one of the doctors must have stolen from the airplane, and asked me if I had any metal in my body (yes, wire!). They asked me what kind of anesthetic I wanted (general, general, general!) and informed me I was not pregnant (no surprise there). Then Jill came in and kept me company until they took me away.
Then they rolled me away on a bed. I've always kind of wanted to do that. I don't remember a whole lot after that, except being fastened to the surgical table with Velcro straps (what HAPPENED that caused them to make THAT a standard part of operating procedure?), and my arms were outstretched. They pricked me with a needle of something (yes, another needle), put a mask on my face, and--
I woke up in recovery. I felt fine, though exhausted. Jill drove me home, we stopped to fill my prescription for Vicodan, then... well, since then I've been lounging and watching TV shows on my computer, talking to the different people who come to visit, enjoying the flowers and balloons I have so generously been given, and generally feeling shocked that I'm not a) in terrible pain or b) really out of it. I'm only JUST starting to feel the first twinges of pain. If it gets worse I'll take one of my Vicodan, but I'm not there yet.
And that is that. Thank you all for your good wishes, and I hope your weekends have been sunny and fun!