My mom had surgery this week.
It's definitely breast cancer, but it was caught very, very early. She had a lumpectomy on Wednesday as an outpatient.
She handled it quite well and, by the day after surgery, was only taking Tylenol, rather than the hard stuff.
We're still waiting for the pathology report, which is why -- if you don't know me in real life or on Plurk -- I haven't said much (or anything) about it.
The path report will tell us if the edges were clean and the tale of the lymph nodes (2) that were removed.
In the meantime, we muddle through.
And if you know my family AT ALL, you know that there is humor in all things.
So there we were, sitting in the lobby of the outpatient center. My father, my sister and two of my mom's friends (neither of them are pole-dancing cronies, just fyi).
At one point, there were turkey sandwiches involved -- and enough pickles for us to open our own deli. Oh, and cole slaw. And thousand island dressing.
We smelled delicious.
And of course, there was the obligatory "What to expect from your outpatient surgery experience" brochure.
On page 3 was a description of the center's hospital bracelet color-coding system.
White for the patient's name.
Red for allergies.
I looked at it over my dad's shoulder and laughed.
"It's like the jelly bracelets the kids wear -- and you KNOW what that means, don't you?" I howled.
My dad looked puzzled.
"The girls wear these bracelets, and the color indicates what they're willing to do."
"Do?" he asked.
"Um," I hedged. "They're ... um ... what they're willing to DO."
He didn't miss a beat.
"Where do you find those girls????"
Yep. That's my dad.
He knows what he likes.
And it ain't fish.