They Call It "Exchange Day"

Sorry, Sara. I'm going to have to cut these off in a minute. Sara tied these little string bracelets on my wrist when I was still too weak from my mastectomy to even sit up. We're surprised they have lasted this long. I told her, "By the time they drop off, I'll be better!" I'd love to leave them on, but my reconstructive surgery is tomorrow. They are going to take out the horrible tissue expander and put a nice soft silicone thingy in there; then they'll do a couple of things to my other side to even things up.

Of course, this is a good thing... I have become used to the tissue expander, but it is a little alarming to look at. It's this big, perfectly hemispherical thing with a huge honkin' horizontal scar right across it. When we were riding through London, Sara looked up at the soaring dome of St. Paul's Cathedral and said, "This looks familiar. Oh, yeah, Mom - I've seen it on your chest."

Okay, okay. I accept that it has to be done. But geeze. I feel so good just now. This evening after work, I tried to squeeze in as much activity as I could. I made a gorgeous salad with roasted beets, blue cheese and toasted walnuts. I worked out in the garden: picked peas and lettuce (please come over and take some lettuce); put in some cages for my beans to climb. I made a homemade salt scrub (OMG, it was easy! I can't believe I was dishing out money for it before.); painted my toenails purple with sparkles so I have something cheerful to look at in the hospital; called Mom and told her that we'll be visiting Wisconsin in August (yay!); went to the gym and ran four or five miles. I know now that I won't be able to do any of these things again for a while.

That is the advantage of surgery #2. I get it now. This is going to hurt a lot, and it's going to hurt for a long time. I'm determined not to get depressed again.

But likewise, the disadvantage of surgery #2 is that...well...I get it now. I'm reluctant to give up all the things I like to do, even for a few weeks. I don't want to spend more time lying on the hateful sofa. Drains. Lortab. Prune juice. Bandages in the heat of summer. And even worse, the horror of taking the bandages off and looking at my messed up boobs. Being numb, not just on one side, but on both. It sucks! And most people don't understand. They think reconstructive surgery is HAPPY surgery, somehow. [buzzer sound] Not. But I will get well and look back on the whole thing and think, "Well, I don't have St. Paul's Cathedral on my chest anymore."

Simon is also checking and double checking to make sure that my wedding ring stays at home this time. Wish me luck! I'll be back as soon as I am able. Now I'm off to try out my salt scrub in a long shower and sleep in my bed once more before I'm sleeping propped up on the couch again.

*****
PS. To my local friends who know and are concerned about A.: I haven't heard anything since Friday. No calls, no e-mails. His wife was going to try to get me into the unit to see him, but I guess it couldn't happen. But I'm thinking that no news is good news.