I’m out of town unexpectedly for thyroid issues. I’m overwhelmed, and missing my cat. We’re on our way to get pancakes for dinner, which makes me happy. I love pancakes, but rarely have them. My voice has fled, but it’s not surprising to me. Lots of doctors putting pressure on my goiter, and feeling my thyroid triggered me. Oddly, the only ones who seem to be able to see my goiter are me, and doctors. To me it’s blatantly obvious, and seems to fluctuate in size. I’ll likely have surgery on Friday morning. Assuming my hormone levels are low enough for the procedure this time.
I have a natural crease in the skin on my neck where they’ll do the incision, so I won’t have a visible scar, or so they claim. I’m weird in that I don’t feel anxious about having surgery. I’ll be asleep for the procedure, so I can’t imagine what to feel anxious about. My part is easy. Show up. I can do that. I hate hospitals, though. It’s Germapaloosa with overly bright lighting, unpleasant smells, strange sounds, and really shitty physical boundaries. I don’t like being touched by strangers who assume it’s acceptable, and never ask first. I’m a nightmare as a patient because I ask too many questions, and only follow the instructions that make sense to me.
The good parts are that I caught 3 new Pokèmon, it’s far less humid here, and the people I’m staying with have a big dog. I think it’s a standard poodle. He looks ridiculous (the way his fur is cut), but he’s super fun and I love him. His name is Garp. Of course I love him! The World According to Garp is my favorite book, ever. The fact that it’s considered too “offensive” for teens, but To Kill a Mockingbird is not makes me want to scream. It’s probably my strongest proof that I’m on the wrong planet. Sigh. And on that note, I’m off to eat pancakes.