Aside from not eating or drinking anything after midnight, the only real pre-op requirement was to enlist someone to escort me home after the surgery. For me, that was my mother. I might be in my mid-20s, but there’s nothing like undergoing a major surgery for your parents’ true colors to show: My father, who incidentally found the lump in my mother’s breast when she was 31, was as nervous as I was. On the other side of the spectrum was my mother, a naturally kind and nurturing woman who has had cancer and thought my recovery would be a piece of cake by comparison, a misconception that we argued about in an Olive Garden. Still, she’s my mom, and her presence turned out to be exactly what I needed while sitting in the cold, sterile waiting room 45 minutes before my surgery.