Just a Few Snips Here and There...

Since I've been home from the hospital, I've done a lot of sitting.  And quite a bit of lying about.  I feel lazy, but that's what the doctor's orders were before I was discharged.  Sit, rest, no lifting, no housework, no shenanigans.

No housework?  Hey, I could get used to that.  For a while, anyway. 

I started off with four drains.  Drains, for the uninitiated, are tubes that carry stuff that's in your body, out a tube and into a bulb.  And when I say stuff, think gross things that you really don't want to think about.  Yep.  Those had to be emptied twice a day, the amount recorded carefully.  Once they fall below 30cc for multiple days in a row, they can be removed.  Until then, they are annoying.  I had two drains on my upper body and two on my abdomen.  If I tried to put a shirt on, there were unsightly bulges in weird places.  And forget about real pants.  I've been wearing warm up pants, for the elastic waist.  I was happy to get the top two drains removed relatively quickly, but my abdominal drains were not cooperating. 

Finally one of those pesky drains met the criteria for removal. I got an appointment for the afternoon. I got my sister in law to drive me to the doctor's office, where the nurse met me. I expected to be in and out in less than fifteen minutes, since all that was needed was to cut the stitches keeping the drain in and pullllll that tube right out. (yes, it feels very weird)   The nurse removed the binder around my abdomen and looked at the incision. 

And frowned. 

I could see her frowning in the huge mirror that was right in front of me, because plastic surgeons love mirrors.  She picked up her scissors and tweezers and began snipping scar tissue from different parts of the incision.  The nurse explained that she was cutting out the dead tissue to allow for the incision to heal better.  Not knowing anything at all about plastic surgery, I didn't argue.  I couldn't feel anything except a slight pull here and there, thankfully.  I wouldn't have been so calm, otherwise. 

Snip, snip. 

Snip, snip.  

Snip, snip.  

An hour later, the nurse finally snipped the last bit of dead tissue.  Unfortunately, now I had a hole in my belly, an open wound. I've never had an open wound before.  I would have to pack the wound twice a day, I was told, to allow for optimal healing.  Packing the wound means placing wet gauze directly into the wound.  I looked at the ugly opening as the nurse put some gauze into my belly.  Followed by more gauze.  Then more.  How deep did that wound extend?  I had to stop looking in the mirror, because I found myself feeling a bit nauseated.  

"The doctor will clean all this up when he sees you next time in July," the nurse told me. Yay.  I was given a prescription for saline and gauze and sent to the nearest pharmacy. 

I have to go back and do it all again next Monday. 

I Blame Pamela Anderson

I would have hidden my cancer from the world if I could have done so. If I could have continued to pass for "normal", I wouldn't have said a word.  It's not about bravery.  I'm not really all that brave at all.  It is just easier for me to deal with some things by talking about everything that is NOT that thing.   If nobody knows about whatever I'm dealing with, then for a few hours I can pretend that my issue doesn't exist, and for some stupid reason that helps me process emotionally heavy events.  The armchair therapists can have a field day with that.  It works for me.

At the moment, the left side of my chest is flattened and shapeless, so pretending to look normal isn't happening. It's pretty obvious that something is not right when you look at me.  Since radiation and other aspects of my treatment are not kind to reconstruction efforts, it was recommended after the chemo and the radiation.  With the intent of feeling prepared, I decided that I should at least locate a plastic surgeon while I had the opportunity, rather than wait until the last minute.  I made an appointment.

Plastic surgery is not really something I refer to in polite company.   I recall reading stories of collapsed implants, problems with silicon, etc., that have circulated over the years. Mostly, I pictured Pamela Anderson, so surgically enhanced that in my youth I truly feared for her safety.  I had nightmares of her toppling forward down the stairs due to the gravitational pull of her chest; the injuries under those circumstances would have been awful.  Poor Pamela! My only relief came when she was on Baywatch, where she did not require any additional flotation devices. 

It occurred to me at some point, that I might have formed a negative bias toward plastic surgery without just cause. All because of Pamela Anderson.  I was basing all of my negative opinions on Pamela Anderson. What the heck?  Pamela Anderson married Tommy Lee AND Kid Rock, for goodness sakes!  Who even does that? Pamela Anderson really isn't what one might call a role model for someone like me; why was I letting her influence my decision making? It was finally clear that nothing good was going to come of comparing my situation with that of Pamela Anderson. The particular plastic surgery practice recommended to me is considered to be one of the best in the nation, and the particular doctor I selected is considered to be awesome by other doctors as well as former patients.  I needed to let go of whatever fears/anxieties I might have accumulated about plastic surgery over the years, and keep an open mind.

So I met the doctor.  I listened to what he had to say.  The method that he and the members of his practice use involves removing fat from the abdomen and inserting that into the breast area. A tummy tuck AND a breast job! Since I've long joked about moving the fat from various parts of my body to other areas, the description of the procedure was reassuring.  My overall impression of the doctor himself was positive; he seemed as though he knew what he was doing, and that's certainly the kind of first impression that you want to form of a surgeon who is going to be making you look normal after cancer. 

Maybe everything is going to be okay at the end of all this cancer stuff, after all.