The Good, The Bad and the Dusky

Well, it's been a few days. They have been filled with:

1. Lortab;
2. Lying flat on my back;
3. In a bizarre parody of lingerie, thigh-high pressure stockings and a corset-type thing that I would call a bustier if I still had a bust;
4. Shuffling, shuffling, like I'm 100 years old, from the bed to the sofa to the table and back to the sofa;
5. Prune juice, which I chug as fast as I can while holding my nose.

I have good days. On good days I focus on the positive.

It looks like they got all the cancer. Every day, I am able to stay awake a little longer. I am off Lortab and managing with Ibuprofen (which means I can drink, and I sure do). The pressure stockings are off and the drainage tubes have been pulled out. I have watched a lot of movies. I can pretty much dress myself. I am enjoying my mom's company. My friends have been incredible. Amazing! Meals and flowers and a huge basket of funny gifts and loads of visitors who laugh and drink and talk about other things most of the time, so I can forget about it for awhile. I drove the car yesterday (although it was hard) (and wearing a seat belt SUCKS!). I can't make a bed or fold laundry, yet; but I can pick up stuff and put it away. I can brush my hair.

I have bad days, too. I can't work out, which is driving me out of my mind. I feel restless and blob-like. By the time this is over, I will have only one boob, but an a** like a blimp. I handed my wedding ring to Si as they were wheeling me into surgery, and he lost it. I am sick to death of pain. It is unrelenting. Every breath I take hurts, all day long. Pain gets old really fast (believe it or not), and I'm not a patient person. It seems like it is going to hurt forever. I am touch-starved, because it hurts to hug or hold anyone. Even if the kids just sit next to me and they are wriggly, the movement of the sofa hurts. Right after surgery, Si would hold my foot. Now we lie in bed with our fingers touching. This is totally unsatisfactory, but the idea that I could wrap my arms around anyone is as remote as the moon. I'm pissed off at two-breasted women, which pretty much means that I'm pissed off all day. I open my underwear drawer and see a pile of old familiar bras in there; I think, will I ever wear any of these again? What will I wear?

I have only really had one full-fledged pity-party, though: on Thursday night, one week after surgery. The surgeons told me I could take off the corset-thing, shower and change my dressings. I procrastinated for a long time, laying out my pajamas, flossing; but what could I do? My hair was dirty and my pits were smelly. Eventually, naked has to happen. It was indeed a horrifying sight, which I chose not to commemorate in a photo. You are grateful, believe me. Basically, there is an enormous piece of surgical "duct tape" that goes from my scapula over my shoulder and down over my breast, holding it up in a "perky" position. Or it would be perky, if it were still really...there. It is still my same old skin and they did save the nipple, but I'm as flat as an 11-year-old. The expander under my pectoral muscle has just 50 ccs of fluid in it, which is fine, 'cause my pec feels as tight as a drum and twitches painfully and constantly. The tape has been cut into a sort of a "Y" shape at the bottom, splitting to go on either side of the nipple and thus cover almost all of my stitches. The nipple, which I was so keen to save looks..frankly...ungrateful. Shrivelled and angry, it is almost black. The surgeons say, "Well it's a little dusky. You'll probably lose some skin off there." Dusky. DUSKY!? I look at it and think, "It looks like it might decide the trip wasn't worth it and just drop off."

Boy, did I cry, once I was in the shower. After one appalled look at myself, I averted my eyes; I looked up and to the right, and didn't lower my eyes even once. I sobbed and moaned like the spoiled brat that I am. I balled in the shower, sniveled while I was drying off. I really balled when I had to put antiseptic cream on Mr. Dusky. I used a cotton ball. I can't bear to touch myself because the whole surface of my ex-breast is numb and this numbness scares me. Then I went to bed and cried some more, but it's really hard to sleep with a stuffed-up nose. I already have a hard time sleeping 'cause I can't curl up on my favorite side; so I decided to adjourn the pity party, blew my nose and pulled myself together. Today I took a shower again and didn't avert my eyes. I need to be an adult, and it makes leg-shaving easier.