A friend of mine has been following my blog and has also
been a faithful supporter of my up and downs. She’s cried with me, she’s
laughed with me, she’s been angry with me, she’s been excited with me.
Recently, she has been fearful with me. Afraid of me making more blunders under
anesthesia (Gimme a B! B!). She knows I am terrified of repeating that now that
I have done it twice following my last surgery. We’ll call her Kate for the
sake of the story and to protect the guilty. Kate herself recently required a
minor medical procedure, let’s say dental, and totally unrelated to the boob. She had
shared with her spouse my story and the blunders I had made. Laughing at the
absurdity of what I had done, but now fully aware we must not be immune to
crazy talk when medication is pumping through your veins. Aware of her upcoming
procedure, Kate was now worked up with anxiety about the risk of making a
similar outburst. Well, low and behold! Her procedure occurred and a few
minutes later her fear came to fruition! Now captured on film (courtesy of her
husband) is a rounding rendition of Gimme a B! Gimme an O! Even more hysterical
that her procedure had nothing to do with boobs at all! Proof that the subconscious
mind and the power of suggestion is a might warrior. So now I have to add a
disclaimer to my words moving forward. Consider
yourself warned. Of course, Kate was
kind enough to send me a message letting me know I was rubbing off on her. I
surely had hoped it would be a different trait of mine to spread around. So
sorry, Kate. (Misery does love company though and I really needed that laugh).
Less than 72 hours from now bright and early Monday morning
I will find myself back in that very same OR. Dear God, please consider me your
faithful servant and please protect me from the verbal outbursts of myself. As
a backup plan, I have banned the use of all cameras or recording capabilities
from my room until 24 hours post procedure and have threatened Ron with huge retaliation
should he observe me do something crazy and not throw his body on top of me to
save me from myself. All of your future is at risk, Ron! And “Wonton”, the 8
year old mental prodigy, I will temporarily have to ban you from my presence as
well. Your memory is just too perfect for me to consider you safe. And for the next 72 hours I will be repeating
over and over in my head the word “silence”.
Boob 1 is only slightly anxious about her impending bloat. I
keep reminding her that Boob 2.2 will be right there by her side the entire
procedure providing a comforting empathetic shoulder to lean on. I also tell
her how grateful I will be to have her around in her new state the next time I
find myself in need of a flotation device. Right now in her loosely deflated
state she serves me little purpose. She doesn't believe me though and fears
with doom and despair the approach of the 40 foot long needle. (She exaggerates when she is worked up.) She really is lucky though. There is some
other portion of my body (where - to be determined) that is going to be
blindsided Monday morning. It has no idea it will be violated and stripped of
its inner most precious cellulite. Boy, will that be a rude awakening. Nothing like waking up one morning and finding
a piece of yourself stolen and re-gifted to a neighbor. That’s a bad day.
I myself am simply trying to claim the promise of His will
being a thousand times better than mine. My friend, R, who has been through almost
the exact same procedure promises me this will be simple. Not pain free, but
with quick recovery. And NO DRAINS! It really doesn't get any better than that.
Just got to duct tape my brain shut to keep out the stupid surgical images I
googled. In the meantime, I am keeping all
parties involved very busy. The theater, bowling, dinner out, worship, sleep.
Lots of sleep. I’m good to go.
Disclaimer: Statements made in this
writing may be detrimental to your ability to control yourself. Writer not
responsible for emotional damaged obtained as a result of your reading and
response.
