The surgery went fine. After a little relaxation cocktail, I was good to go. I told every single person in the surgery unit that I loved them, and that I appreciated all of their efforts, and that they were all amazing. If I had said it once to each person, they may have not thought anything about it. Unfortunately, drugs make me really happy and I'm pretty sure I sounded like a broken record. Oh well, I'm sure they've gotten worse.
I had a medical student sit in on the surgery. My husband was not very pleased about that. This poor kid has probably not gotten to see a boobie under the age of 60, and now that he finally gets a young one, he has to deal with my husband staring him down. The poor kid couldn't even look up at me to ask his checklist of questions. Judging by his social skills, I may have been his first live, free boobie, and he didn't even get to enjoy it. Life sure sucks sometimes.
Anyways, they didn't take a picture, so I can't show it to you. I will have the biopsy results by next week, but my guess is definitely benign, pain-in-the-ass, lump.
I think I will be able to go back to work on Monday as long as Franken-boobie behaves and as long as my dog doesn't rip open the stitches in the middle of the night. I don't know if he is trying to be all "call of the wild" or what, but ever since he tried to lick up the blood from my husband's accident a few months ago, he's been like a little vampire. Yesterday, he just kept sniffing at my shirt. Creepy.
Thanks for all of your support and friendship!