July 25, 2006
By Default

Originally posted on the Breast Health Online forum


Tomorrow is my pre-op.  


Yesterday I went to the bank and got a cashier's check drawn for $43,897,621 to pay the surgeon's fees. (I've already warned all three of the Tots that The Mommy Bank of America is closed for the remainder of the decade, if not the remainder of their collective lifetimes.)

In the meantime, I'm hoping that David can come with me to the appointment tomorrow.  Right now it's sort of up in the air -- things are nuts at the newspaper office, as usual -- but I think it would be helpful to us both if he were there at least for the Q&A, mainly because right now it looks like he is my go-to guy for aftercare. At one point we were thinking about flying Daughter #1 down from TicTac to take care of me for the first few days after the surgery, but she's just started a new job -- at a hospital, ironically -- and can't afford the time off. Plus the airfare is a little beyond my budget at the moment. (See: Mommy Bank of America/Closed for Decade.) I don't have any other family living nearby. Most of my best girlfriends live at least forty Zip Codes away. My nice mother-in-law, a retired RN, has offered to come and help if we need her, but ... I dunno ...  there's something about the idea of my nice mother-in-law sucking goo out of my boobs that is ever-so-slightly off-putting, shall we say?  


Which sort of leaves David.  

David, who fainted in the surgeon's office.

David, who has to leave the room when "Nip/Tuck" comes on.

David, who loves me more than anything on earth but who still can't bring himself to touch a 23-year-old C-section scar.

David is going to be my nursemaid.  AND my chauffeur, AND my chef, AND my laundry maid, AND my personal trainer. And I'm thinking that the more David knows what to expect, immediately after the surgery, the better it would be for both of us.  




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