Last night my wingman/stylist/partner made a list of all the things we need to do, in order to prepare for my recovery.
The list is long. There are things to do around the house. Support pillows to buy. Undergarments, frozen food, insurance claims, and making up a guest room for my mother, Nurse Violet.
Because it was such an extensive list, I wondered how much was absolutely necessary. F’rinstance. Do I really need giant panties? Will my tummy be swollen? And how do I go about getting a private room? I plan on entertaining quite a bit, so I don’t want any strangers crashing my party.
So at 8 this morning I called Katrina – secretary to my cosmetic surgeon. First order of business was finding out when I would have my pre-op appointment. I’m anxious to find out all the details (but not too many) of what to expect.
Katrina said I could expect to hear from someone next week. ‘What about compression garments?’ I asked her. She said the doctor H doesn’t normally encourage that – but if I need something I could get at the store next to the hospital. Great!
‘What about drains?’ I asked her. ‘When can I expect them to be removed?’ She gave me the same annoying answer I'm sick of hearing. ‘Everybody is different. Everyone heals differently.’
‘And when will I meet the anaesthesiologist?’ I asked. She sighed, and then told me he’d be at the pre-op appointment.
‘When do I stop taking tamoxafen?’ I asked. I could hear her inhale, ‘As I’ve told you, two weeks before surgery.’
‘Great. Just a couple more questions.’
‘No?’ I squeaked. ‘Really/?’
‘You’re cutting me off?’
‘Yes. If you have any other questions you can email me.’
If I have any other questions?! I’m relatively low maintenance as a human being, but I’m about to have the rug pulled out from under me for the summer, and I have about 4,000 questions. I grabbed a litre of water from the fridge, and settled down at my computer.