"I have some bad news"

Apparently, my new boobs have gone missing.  Perhaps they realized they couldn't reach their full potential in my tiny, aged chest and would prefer to wait for a 20 year old's augmentation.  Perhaps they got caught by Sheriff Joe Arpaio in a border run in Arizona and are doing time in a tent city.

All I know is they aren't in my body.

My exchange surgery was scheduled for 7:30 a.m. today, with check-in at 5:30.  This is the last week of the school year for teachers and students, and it was the worst possible time to have my surgery - but I was told I had no choice.  It was now or in August - after the new school year began.  So, I picked now, to get it over with.   I wanted to work next school year with nothing major hanging over my head.

Yesterday afternoon, I got a call from Dr. S's office saying that the hospital had forgotten to order my boobs, so they were pushing my surgery back to 9:30 (arrival at 7:30).  They were going to be overnighted from the company and would arrive at 8:30.

In preparation for the surgery, I filled my prescriptions, I put my scopolamine patch behind my ear, had my last glass of water, and went to bed at 11:30 p.m, after watching Breaking Bad.  (I felt like seeing people who have it way worse than I do.).

I got up this morning dizzy from the patch but prepared..  I arrived at the hospital at 6:30 - early because my husband had to go back and drop my son off at school.  I checked in, was placed in a room, an IV was inserted, and I waited.

And waited.

At 8:30 my husband showed up and said he saw an electronic board saying Dr. S had another surgery that morning and mine wasn't scheduled for 10:30.  I just listened to Armstrong and Getty on the radio and dozed off and on; that scopolamine drug really affected me.

My iPhone battery died.

At 10:00, Dr. S showed up, and said, "I have some bad news for you."

I knew what it was.  "My boobs didn't arrive?"  Nope, he said, and he apologized.  It's why he prefers to do surgeries in his surgical center (which my insurance won't pay for), so he can have everything ready and not have to rely on the hospital.

So, the nurse removed my IV and I went home and took a nap.

I'm exchange-less.  I still have a large plastic turtle shell in my chest.

I still don't have a glimmer of idea of what kind of permanent ruination my body will face, but I was prepared for the finality of what I was going to see.  My doctor has warned that  he can't make them even, and I would still need a prosthesis or padding, and I was just ready to get on with it and face whatever my new body will be.

Now, I have to do it that mental preparation all over again.

They'd better not make me wait until August. Or, mess with my fourth of July, my favorite holiday.

I wonder how much that little fiasco cost the hospital?  Four hours of nursing time, an IV bag, tubing, an antibiotic medication,  and a bed.  For nothing.  Not to mention both my husband and I took the day off (and i worked over the weekend to do work I couldn't do this week.)

Whoever you are who is responsible for ordering those implants - you messed up, big time.

I wish I could sic Sheriff Arpaio on you.