Sayonara Tumor: Part 1

So I went and saw the lipoma guru yesterday and it looks like I'll be trowing a "goodbye party" in the form of surgery on Tuesday. That's crazy quick, huh? Apparently this chick doesn't mess around and is on a mission to de-tumor-fy as many people as possible. Whatevs.

Here's a little recap of how the appointment went:

Parking garage: Have I mentioned how much I hate them? Because I do. A lot. Again, maybe it's because everything I watch is about murder but, really, have you seen how many times people have been offed in parking garages? As if going into a hospital isn't scary enough...

 Take the elevator up eleventy flights and take a seat in the waiting room. I didn't know this, but apparently they hired someone to provide endless entertainment while you wait. Because y'all, there was this lady on her cell phone SCREAMING at someone on the other end, about.gardening. I couldn't have made that up if I tried. Never mind the fact that this particular waiting room was the size of a closet, or that's its 2011 and you there's really no longer a need to scream at someone in order for them to hear you LOUD AND CLEAR. Also, how she digressed from gardening to a conversation about trying to light up a piece of nicotine gum and smoke it is beyond me, but she went there.  Bless the heart of whoever was on the other end of that call.

Filled out a ton of new patient paperwork, blah, blah, blah, then continued patiently waiting my turn. Now, I don't know about y'all, but for me, the best part of a doctors office is the endless supply of trash magazines. Celebrity gossip overload? Heck. Yes. So imagine my surprise when I scooped up the latest issue of People and found:

Really? What kind of fresh hell is this? I was literally little-school-girl excited until it donned on me that, oh yeah, I don't flipping speak or read Spanish (at least not enough to understand what exactly caused JLo to leave Marc Anthony. Not that I blame her. He's always kind of creeped me out). I seriously think that they had a streaming live feed of people from the waiting room and some sadistic freak was sitting back there laughing her ass off at my misery. I'm sure my face was priceless though.

Called back to see the doctor, told to strip (don't you just love that?) and proceeded to dress myself in the lovely paper gown they left. Ok, I'm really not trying to complain, but can you not spring for some detergent and just use regular hospital gowns? Please? Because, people like me, who SWEAT while  they anxiously await the doctor to come in do NOT appreciate the paper gown attire you provided sticking to my boobs. And my tumor. Oh, and the fact that it was blue, and left awesome sweat marks for everyone to see? Not humiliating at all.

Rude.

So the doctor finally comes in, and is the nicest person I've ever met. Really, she was like a grown up Punky Brewster and didn't even introduce her self as "doctor so-in-so", but instead offered her first name. Winner in my book. She immediately noticed my little tumor friend, examined (with warm hands. A+), explained what our course of action would be and then introduced the adorable little Korean girl standing in the corner. Turns out she had a med student shadowing her and asked if I would mind if she felt on Tommy the tumor (like I could really say no? Thanks for the pretend permission request though. I guess). I said sure, why not, I'm already sweaty, and naked, let's just make it a party. And after this little experience you can now add medical students to the list of things I'm not a fan of. If I was in charge of instructing the future doctors of America (which obviously I'm qualified to do, selling toilets and all) day one's lecture would go something like this:

"Good morning class. NEVER TOUCH A PATIENT WITH COLD HANDS. Class dismissed."

I don't know what she was doing before she came into my room, but my guess would be that she was packing organs on ice. In a deep freeze locker. In Alaska. Yes, they were that cold.

Whatever, she got to feel up Tommy and I guess I can now say I've contributed to the future generations of doctors. Is there a tax write off for that? There should be.

So yeah, I go in to get poked and prodded and pre-surgery prepared on Monday, and then I'll head to the hospital on Tuesday at 3:45pm for the real deal. Best part? I'm forbidden to eat after midnight Monday. In case you didn't know, that's over 12 hours without food. Um, hi, not acceptable. I realize you are trying to keep me from unintentionally choking on my own vomit while in surgery, but I can't promise my fat unconscious ass won't try to eat your arm.

You've been warned. 

The good news is that I should be home from the hospital in plenty of time to watch this week's episode of Pretty Little Liars which is awesome sauce. Obviously my priorities are completely in line.

Always,

L

P.S. Sorry I didn't post Thoughts and Thanks on Thursday. Look for a weekend edition sometime today or tomorrow.