Rest is Hard Work

Yesterday we went to the plastic surgeon's office for a follow up visit, and saw his nurse, Pat. (Actually the nurses for both surgeons are named Pat - makes it easy to remember.)

She removed the novocaine pump and its tubing, and all of the tape over the incisions. I didn't watch. (And frankly, although the process had been described to me as "completely painless," it was not.) She checked out the progress of the healing, and prescribed some kind of cream to "encourage the capillary action" on a small spot of skin.

Unfortunately, I am not yet divested of the two drains - the tubes that pull out the fluid that accumulates at the surgical sites. They are sewn in place somewhere on each side under my arm (again, not looking, so don't know exact location, and don't really care) and end in a kind of squeezy bulb that is a collection point. Twice a day you empty the bulb and measure what was in there, then write it down. The key to getting rid of the damn things is to be able to empty less than a total of 20 cc of fluid from each bulb over a 24-hour time period. And you can sort of help that along by not doing much with your upper body to cause more fluid to be produced. Pat claims that maybe when we go back next Wednesday I will achieve my goal of unfettered-ness. (To everyone I know who had to deal with more than two drains, you are seriously my heroes.)

Although I have been told that many women go out and about with their drain bulbs neatly tucked in a fanny pack, and therefore presumably unnoticeable, I am apparently not one of them; besides, it's about 90 degrees outside and I have no desire to purposely get that hot and sweaty when taking a shower is such a procedure. Plus, no deodorants, creams, powders, or other such things are allowed for the foreseeable future.

Other than the drains, the only outwardly visible remnants of my time at the hospital are several horrifying-looking bruises on my arm and hand where the IV was and where a well-meaning but badly aiming nurse named Ed tried to move the IV to when my hand got unbearably sore, round about day 2.

Every so often, I think about what has happened to my body, and the complete irreversibility of it is still very surreal and a little (ok, a lot) depressing, despite the fact that it was really a necessary move. (And, yes, I know deep down that I'm luckier than many.) So I stop thinking about it. Seems the best option for now.

There are a few pathology reports that we are still waiting for, and when those arrive then we'll visit the oncologist and see what she advises.

I know my job is to try to relax and heal, which is easier said than done! Many, many thanks to everyone for the food, the flowers, and the lovely emails, cards, and Facebook messages.

This is the first time in about 18 years that we have not been on Cape Cod for the July 4th week. We'll go later in the month when I've got more of this healing thing done - but I still won't be able to help with the driving, packing and carrying, unpacking, bed making, etc.

Looks like one of those silver linings...........