I Think It and It Happens

WARNING:
I don't think I have any male readers, but if I do, just know before you read that this post contains details of my female-related medical history. If you don't want to read the word "boob" then don't read the rest. Dang it! Well, you already read it so just go on ahead.


I have never thought of having a boob job. In college my roommates called me 'Busty', as in a nickname. If anything I guess I have wished for a reduction. When I was pregnant, I thought I was going to have to buy a special wheeled cart to keep from falling on my face while walking. Don't worry, they deflated. But I digress.
Let me continue, digressing, that is. About a month ago I had a thought: I would love to have something minor happen to me. Something bad enough to land me in the hospital for a day but nothing so bad to actually be bad. I stay in bed for a whole day, have people waiting on me hand and foot, no one would expect you do anything. Plus I would probably get pain killers and that might counter the bad hospital food. At least I wouldn't have to prepare or clean up any of that hospital food. Also, being in the hospital, I would be free from guilt from having this entire day off. If I were to go to a spa or a resort for a day I would be racked with guilt for spending so much money on something so frivolous as a day free from responsibility. I actually had this thought. Even writing it now, it sounds so ridiculous.
In January I noticed a highly painful lump in my right breast. I got it checked out and it turned out to be a cyst of some sort. Not to worry. Then it disappeared. Bonus! Then, in March, another one popped up. This one was bigger, badder, more painful and was not to be deterred by a measly ultrasound. Or two rounds of two different antibiotics, or hot presses, massage, or ANYTHING. This guy was here to stay. Or so I thought. Turns out the docs here take large, suspicious boob bumps pretty seriously. After a giant needle to the mass sucked out next to nothing, the specialist said I needed to be parted from my painful partner. So, tomorrow I go in for my breast augmentation surgery. It is same day surgery but I still have to be there all day.
Last week I had a little bit of a mental break down. One night while laying in bed I was thinking: 'Why me? Why does my body have to continue to mutiny against me? Can't I just be healthy? Even in ONE PART OF MY BODY? Seriously, if I have to deal with potential breast cancer can I at least walk without a limp? Is that too much to ask?'
Then the thought hit me: 'this IS what you asked for.' A day in the hospital. Nothing too serious, but just enough to get you a full day in your own room with a TV and a drip line of painkillers, and a breast reduction. At least on one side.
Curses.
I have to stop daydreaming. If I don't I may end up back in high school but still retaining the knowledge I have acquired since then, progressing so quickly past my peers in both academics and the arts that I end up being the first woman to win the Nobel Prize, put out a platinum album, and win the Xterra Tri all in the same year.