I hate surprises.
I am a (newly minted) 27-year-old who would still snoop for Christmas presents if my mom was still foolish enough to keep my Christmas gifts in the house. She does not, at least as of this year. The anticipation is too much, I think that’s my problem. I remember the first time I did it, I was young and I knew my mom had hidden wrapped presents in the top shelf of her closet. I wasn’t tall enough to reach them and I didn’t have the courage to open them even if I could reach them, but I could move shoes aside and see the festively wrapped boxes and bingo. Not that I could tell what any of it was, but I had this feeling of satisfaction as if I had achieved something.
So maybe I don’t hate surprises as much as I hate the anticipating and the wait for something I know is coming. Just thinking about it is giving me sweaty palms.
I’m doing a lot of throat clearing right now.
I had my weekly follow-up with Dr. L today, I was scheduled to have a fill so I thought it was weird when they took me to an exam room instead of a procedure room. No big deal though, they’ve done quick fills there where it’s quieter. So in he comes, and he looks at my problematic right side.
Just a quick recap:
- Expander too close to very thin skin that we have been waiting to heal/form capsular tissue
Not too problematic, but it’s enough, enough that after poking at the area of thin skin a little, he leans back and tells me that we’re going to go in surgically to make whatever revision is necessary.
Great. In a few weeks? In the New Year? Bro, I just went back to work. It is Open Enrollment season and I have needy people emailing me constantly.
“Weeeeeeeeeell,” he kind of draws this word out in a way that only someone with a midwestern drawl can, “I had a facial nerve tumor scheduled for tomorrow but it got postponed, so that leaves a big gap in the OR schedule. We’ll do it tomorrow.”
In effort to hide my surprise, I say that it sounds like a really fun/cool/neat surgery was postponed.
“Cool for me, probably not for the guy on the table.”
I nearly tell him he’s a little fucked up and I like it, but that’s probably pushing it a little far. We are not quite there in our BFF relationship.
So, I sign the consent form without reading what I’m consenting to, which causes him to burst out in this hyuck-hyuck sounding belly laugh. Shit can go wrong, just don’t kevorkian me while you’re in there. As an aside, what I consented to is called an “exploratory revision with potential replacement of tissue expander.” It should only require a half hour of surgery, but we have an hour booked in the OR if we decide to hang out.
- Bair Paws gown that blows warm air all over your body. It’s winter where I live, I’m really excited for this.
- Hopefully running into my hot Greek anesthesiologist resident from the last time.
- Leaving work early on a Friday(?) ((I am undecided on this.))
- My foob is going to get fixed. This should probably be ranked higher but Bair Paws is the bomb-dot-com. Yes, I just went 1999 on here but it’s that necessary.
So, probably my least favorite surprise is a finding out I’m having surgery 24 hours before said surgery. And also annoying that I had to have a couple piercings taken out. Oh, and the special soap I have to shower with sucks, but I’ll be back to work Monday so it’s really not that bad and I’m not that upset about it because shit happens and this is better than the expander splitting the skin open and opening that can of worms. I’m lucky.
I will, however, cut a bitch if I wake up with a drain.