My recent wedding anniversary celebration was eventful. It included a room with a view.
A lovely gift of flowers.
Dinner from a brand new place to eat.
Plus a backless gown and some new boots.
And also thyroid surgery. In true middle-aged Appalachian fashion, I got myself a goiter. Or rather, a large thyroid cyst that kept filling up with fluid and had to go. So, for a co-pay roughly the price of a Royal Caribbean Cruise, I had it removed on the day of my anniversary. Big fun for the hubby and I. Everything went well, and I was released the next day.
I’m now sporting a rather gnarly scar where the tennis-ball sized annoyance was removed, but I’m fine and rocking a lot of attractive scarves this spring. Alas, middle-age and up is when body parts you didn’t even know you had begin to fail.
I haven’t been in a hospital since I was a child, so I did get a lot of material for later use. I actually wish I’d had the chance to do this before I wrote ‘Grace Under Fire.’ I could have used the hospital stuff for color.