Booby School

I’m just over a week away from surgery, but before they’ll let me into the OR, I have to go to Booby School on Tuesday.  Well, of course it's only me who calls it that – and I don’t have to go.  (But I was a Girl Guide; I want to Be Prepared.)  Officially, it's Breast Surgery Preparation Class, or something equally forgettable, but Booby School sounds like so much more fun.

I’ll have to attend unaccompanied, as there’s a patient confidentiality concern.  I guess not everyone subscribes to the ‘seen ten, seen ‘em all’ philosophy I’ve so long espoused.  Oh, well.  I was never one to crib off my neighbour’s work, and I’m still hopeful of an A – or do they choose the valedictorian based on bra size?  Either way, I’m a contendah!

The curriculum remains a mystery, or I’d read up in advance, but I’ll get to meet with a social worker (presumably so I play nice with my surgical team), a dietician (is it gauche to imagine that dairy is the most breast-friendly food group?), a physiotherapist (we must, we must, we must…), and a nurse (finally, someone who’ll talk about surgery).

I wonder whether there’ll be two tassels each at graduation.