Zombie Apocalypse

Look at  the cookies my coworkers made to support my upcoming surgery.

I almost didn't get to eat them.

A zombie apocalypse. An asteroid hitting the earth.  Finding out we are merely ants in the universe and that big shadow is a foot about to stomp out humanity.  Those things sound pleasant compared to the phone call I got yesterday from my plastic surgeon's office.  Left on my machine was a message cancelling an upcoming appointment.  My surgery is the 18th, and my after surgical appointment is the 19th.

What do they want to cancel?

Fingers shaking, zombies pounding on the window, at 4:55 I called back, worried nobody would be there.

The secretary answered, and I was informed that there had been a death in the doctor's family, and my appointment on the 19th was canceled and probably my surgery too.

I'm embarrassed to say that at that moment, I didn't care one whit about whoever died in my doctor's family.  I don't think I'd give up this surgery for a death in my own family - in fact, I'm sure I wouldn't.  Thirteen months of an expander is worse than watching zombies eating your neighbor's brains, and I want it OUT. 

I stammered.  I stuttered.  I said, "No, this can't be happening!  I've waited so long.  I've been through enough!   I  arranged for a sub at my job!  It's a holiday - I only have to take five days off - any other time and I'll have to take two weeks!

I have boob cookies to eat!!!"

Then I burst into tears.

I didn't cry when I was diagnosed with cancer.  I didn't cry when my last plastic surgeon quit on me. I didn't cry when I was told I had to have a mastectomy, I didn't cry when I was told I had to do chemo.   I never cry.  My husband has never seen me cry.  But, I cried at this news.  The zombies were breaking through the door and were about to eat me, and I had no fight left it me, just tears.

His secretary said she would call the doctor and double-check his flight.

I whimpered and hung up, then I called my husband and blubbered.

A few minutes later she called back.  His flight is after my surgery and so the only appointment that will be cancelled is my post-surgical one.

Whew.  I can live with that.  The zombies have retreated.

Now, of course,  I have a doctor who may be distracted and upset when performing surgery.  But, I don't care, I'm getting this expander out of me.  Honestly, if he hadn't done it I might have performed that surgery myself.  I hear some women in the South Pole performed breast surgery on herself - why can't I?

I'm a bit disgusted at myself though.  It wasn't his fault I had to wait so long for this surgery and it wasn't his fault that a family member died.  But, for that moment, I didn't care about him a damn bit.  It was only about me.    I'm ashamed of myself.

I think I'll have a cookie.