I had my consultation yesterday, a brief overview of the "Sistruck Procedure." I am not fretful of the surgery, just the anesthesia. I would rather get there and someone taser me in the back. Knock me out unknowingly then give me the drug. Clunk me over the head with a small hammer. Ask me about my day and sneak like a thief. Pick pocket me, jab me with medicine, just don't tell me I am going under! Anticipation is the worst. All in all, I am told that being under is a happening place to be. And there are others that will greet me in my Twilight? What is so happening? What chariot awaits? Carol Amy, don't go to the light!
I will be sleeping beauty, quietly lying, stretched and sound, and in my best Henry The Eighth impersonation, "off with my lump." In reality, I should be singing the glorious praises of "my lump, my lump, my lovely lady lump." She will not be missed. There will be a biopsy done which is protocol. If they come back with the "C" word, which we all know is, "Could this be your twin?", I will be highly upset! There better not be teeth and bones in this fluid filled freak of nature. It will be long gone and replaced by a scar that hopefully does not resemble Young Frankenstein. I was told that it is such a small scar. The creases of my neck will hide any line. Yeah, when I am eighty. There is also an 8-10 percent chance of it reoccurring. If that happens I will be having a "Car Trunk Procedure."
My friendly neighbors are offering food. I hope they know what they are getting into with four kids and two adults. Bless their hearts though! One is even getting me a scarf. Somehow I see glimpses of Grey Gardens.
I am going to have the best sleep of my life, according to many. I am afraid, I will admit, but I know that the doctor and nurse will watch over me. Just make sure, good doctor, to bring me back. I have laundry to do!