Lump 4

The YaYa Sister made a nice little poop in the potty this morning, and we had a party for her afterwards, with singing and dancing and animal cookies. On her part I think she was a little puzzled about what the big deal was. YaYa's simple like that. She said she needed to poop, and then she did. So what? Why all the hysteria?

That's one poop and one pee. We still haven't gotten down to any serious training, we're just sitting her down occasionally if she has her diaper off. Or if she mentions that she might have to go. So today, before she got in the bath, she acted distressed and yelled POTTY and so I let her sit there while I bathed Kid A in our storage bin that we are still using as a bathtub, and when she yelled DONE, I ignored her at first, and then when she persisted I poked my head around the corner and there it was: a neat little turd in the potty bowl. Not in her diaper, waiting to be cleaned up. Ahhh heaven. Maybe YaYa will prove the rule right that girls are easier to teach in potty matters than boys.

My surgery is set for March 1st. I'm glad it's not April 1st, April Fool's Day, which would be slightly unnerving. Chinua and I met with the surgeon the other day, and he explained the procedure again, as thoroughly as you could desire. The only new information to me was that they are going to go ahead and take the left half of my thyroid out, to get the lump out without too much scar tissue forming. John the surgeon says that the other half of my thyroid will go ahead and do all the work for my body. This seems to be the way in many things. If you cut an inch worm in half, they go ahead as normal. If you're a mama sleeping half as much as you usually do, you just keep on as if you were getting a whole night's sleep. Not speaking of anyone specific, of course. I wonder if the half of my thyroid that's left will get tired. Will it quit one day? I haven't yet Googled thyroid surgery to research it to death yet, but don't worry, I will.

I guess there is only one major risk with this type of surgery, and even it is not so major. The nerve that controls my voice box is right behind my thyroid, and there is a chance that they could damage it. John the surgeon says he's never done it. But if he did, and there's always a chance, he pointed out, my voice would be a little damaged. "Damaged?" My superstar husband wanted to know. "How so?" "Well," said John the surgeon. "Have you ever seen the Godfather?" He left off, in a meaningful pause.


So, if the thought of having a scar that looks like I've gone over the deep end and slit my throat isn't enough to bother me, then the idea of sounding like a female Marlon Brando might. If I would even sound like a female Marlon Brando. Maybe he was saying that I would sound like Marlon Brando as he is. Male. And old. Maybe I'll keep my fingers crossed for a sexy husky damage, rather than a Godfather damage. Or maybe no damage at all. Just not a pathetic, I can't call my kids anymore or yell at them, so they get away with everything damage. Not a people falling to the floor laughing at my silly rasp damage.

I'm actually not that worried about it. The next step during the surgery, after they remove my left thyroid with the lump attached is when they rush it off to pathology to look for cancer. Then, if they find no cancer, just meaningless lumpage, they sew me back up and I just get my scar for keeps. And my right thyroid. But if they find cancer, So Long Right Thyroid. I will be thyroid-less. And I will have to use Synthroid. Which is not a big deal compared to cancer. The only problem is that I will have to go for four to six weeks without any thyroid medication at all, so they can check me for more cancer. In John the surgeon's words, I will be miserable. He said that Chinua would crawl to him on hands and knees asking him to put me out of my misery. Or something to that effect. He said that my brain will be screaming for the Synthroid. And that I will be depressed and gaining weight with no energy. It sounds a lot like pregnancy to me. Times a thousand.

This worries me.

I mean, I'm not going to cross that bridge until I come to it, but if you tell a girl who's already struggling with her emotions and low energy level that you might have to take away her normal hormones which help her with feeling even as good as she does, she might worry. Just a little bit.

But, all that aside, I'm not that anxious. If you're going to pray for me at all, besides praying that Lump would not turn out to be cancer, pray for me about this: My dread of receiving an IV. I think I will faint, I think I will punch the nurse, I think I will throw up. I am such a wimp over needles.

And you can pray for me about my disgust about having to give the Leaf Baby a bottle. I mean, it'll still be my milk and everything, and I know that it's not a big deal, but my kids have never used a bottle and for some reason it makes me want to cry. Gosh, I'm over the top dramatic. But it does. It's some kind of weird bottle jealousy or something. So, you can pray, I'm not super worried, but a small part of me wants to throw myself to the ground and refuse to do any more anything because don't you know I might be DYING?

PS. I'm totally not dying. It's just exaggeration. I know I have to write this because people sometimes call me in tears over the silly things I write. That's exaggeration too.