I have a lot of goofball friends … and they’re really helping me get through the waiting and ‘bang my head against the wallness’ of everything. Here I share with you some of the nuttier emails, texts, Facebook messages, blog comments, etc. that I’ve received during the last week:
- That morning is really going to suck. I feel for you. Definitely sleep in your clothes and a pony tail and have gum ready in the morning.
- Go Xanax!!!!! All spazzing justified!
- Where is the surgery? How long is the surgery? Do you have to stay in the hospital long? Does your mother play the tuba?
- Well, that stinks. How about lunch tomorrow to take your mind off things? Or a movie? Or a roll of cookie dough w/2 spoons?
- I prayed for you last night. After I reminded The Big Guy who I was (I had to give him my SSN and my DOB), we had some good dialogue.
- It seems like most of the time when boobs and health are joined together in a sentence, the loss of boobs are the outcome. Some people out there have dogs that detect illness. You have super boobs to aide in the detection of potential illness.
- If you want to scream or sing, be happy or sad or just shoot the shit, all you have to do is call!
- Your boobs totally saved your life. They deserve a spa day.
- Obviously, these boobs are a blessing so after you get past this scare, you will have to get them for sure. May this pass quickly and benignly into your blog posting history.
- Well, that sounds kind of scary. Do you recall ever inhaling a jawbreaker and getting it stuck in your pleura? Or a ping pong ball? Sorry, that’s absurd. Why would anyone inhale a ping pong ball?
- Shit. I’m thinking about you. And text me if you really want Valium. I know people.
And, of course, I’ve had scores of more serious messages offering everything from prayers and childcare to excessively cheesy, meatless lasagna (made to order!) and long distance cookies. It all counts. It all helps. And it all will not soon be forgotten.