Eviction Notice Served

Well friends, I've only been here in Rochester for a little over 36 hours, but it didn't take long for my thyroid to be officially given notice of its future eviction. When we left Virginia, I warned my dear organ that it would likely not be making the return trip...turns out my thyroid outsmarted me, again. My thyroid will be evicted...but not until August 8th.

Ya know, just in case the hubby and I couldn't get enough of Minnesota this week.

Before you get rid of your thyroid, you have to basically prevent it from doing anything. Turns out the thyroid doesn't do well with surprises, and needs ten days of thrice-daily iodine before it will semi-willingly consent to eviction. Iodine slows the vascular capabilities of the thyroid and reduces the inflammation and amount of thyroid hormones in your body, thus preparing it for surgery.

So starting Monday, I'll be hanging out with a miniature bottle of iodine three times a day. Get. Excited.

In other news, my feeding tube decided to clog...but I must admit, it had excellent timing. If your feeding tube is going to break, 12 hours prior to its removal is probably the most ideal.

After our flight was delayed by 5 hours, I could only slow the tube so much and it loudly announced that it was finished with about 10 minutes left in our flight (cue massive turn of heads when loud beeping sound erupts from the window seat). Not wanting to scar the world by cleaning my frontal tail in the aiport sink, I headed into a stall with a bottle of water and a syringe, expecting a quick clean-up.

Instead, I opened the tube and formula exploded everywhere, leading to the hasty retreat of the feet on either side of my stall. Surprised, I figured I would finish the cleaning job before dealing with the floor...which sounded like a good plan, until the attempt to irrigate the tube with water yielded an even larger explosion. Typical of the bathroom closest to the arrival of passengers, there was a rather lengthy line by this point, which prompted several heads to peak under the stall and loudly express their confusion as to why my feet were, in fact, facing the toilet.

Yes, you are in the women's restroom, I promise.

Mind you, throughout this entire procedure, the darling automated flusher on the toilet did some toilet cleansing about every ten seconds, further confusing the line of ladies crossing their legs. Suffice to say, when I finally emerged covered in sprays of formula and clutching a dripping IV bag, everyone cleared out of my path to the sink. So attractive.

Fear not, this moment of formula-spewing disaster did not prevent me from greeting the paparazzi. The next morning, I delighted the crowds with a photo shoot of my tail, before and after tube change. You may recall that I'm allergic to silver nitrate, the typical cautery agent used around tubes, so when I get a new tube, they use an electric cautery tool to burn the skin around my stoma (God bless anesthesia). Turns out the medical fashion experts like the results better and are looking to switch to this method for every lucky tube owner. Don't worry, I already inquired about my royalties.

In the meantime, while I wait for my face on the cover of Fortune Magazine, the next few days will be filled with an assortment of GI tests and appointments. The hubs and I will head home on Tuesday and then return again a week later for some neck sculpting and organ feng shui work.

Does 12 weeks in Minnesota during one year qualify you as a resident?

Perhaps I should run for mayor.