I haven't written or said much so far about my bilateral mastectomy except that it went well. Which it did. I needed some time to process the experience and decide if it was truly as horrifying as I anticipated or if my mind was just playing with me.
A little of both, as it turns out.
My greatest fear was pain. That played out to my advantage, mostly. I can't really distinguish between pain and anxiety while I was in the hospital, but I do know that I really appreciated the drugs flowing my way and I recall at least one significant meltdown. A mixed bag.
I recall only bits and pieces from the hospital stay. Thankfully.
I've discovered that the nurses and staff in a hospital can make or break the experience. Again, it was a mixed bag this time. The greatest exception was the navigator assigned to me while I was in the hospital. I assume she is an RN, but she was the nicest person going and she stands out in my mind. Wish I could remember her name. The staff nurses...not so much.
I'm suddenly wondering why in the world would a nurse look at me like I have two heads and treat me like I'm a pain in the ass when I start crying the afternoon after surgery? Is it uncommon in a hospital setting for a middle-aged woman to be upset about having cancer and losing her breasts? Apparently so. Or maybe I was just raining on her parade. Feeling some anger around that....
I'm told my first question out of surgery was "did they remove the port"? I really wanted that port gone. Yes. It was removed. Yeah. Hated that thing...mostly because I had to look at it every day and be reminded that I am a cancer patient. I don't have to see it any more.
Instead, I get to see my "foobs" in all their lumpiness and ugliness. I got a good look at the incisions for the first time on Wednesday. Oh. My. Goodness. Very bad. Incisions are much bigger than I thought. And my drains are hanging from the biggest holes I've ever seen. They're huge.
I came home with FOUR drains, two each from each side of my chest just under my arms. Sore they are, they are sore. And gross. I get to empty the drains twice a day and measure the gooey red bloodish output. Although I've never thought I had a weak stomach, this is a really nasty and gross activity. I got one of them caught in the sofa cushion the other day and nearly yanked it out of my body, stitches and all. The surgeon removed two of them on Wednesday, so now I only have two. Only. I can't bring myself to go out in public in them, so here I sit. I'm not the stay at home type and it's making me crazy and adding to my post-surgery depression.
Here's the really bad news: the skin around the incisions isn't making the surgeon happy. Not healing well and we may have to deal with some necrosis, which will mean another surgery. The notion of having dying skin dripping from my foobs is truly a Halloween nightmare. Let's not even talk about what it looks like...
I have to sleep halfway sitting up and on my back. That means sleep is hard to come by. The compression bra sucks. It's far too tight and terribly uncomfortable. The expanders were filled with saline in surgery and they are stretching the muscle and skin to a wildly uncomfortable degree. I can't lift my arms high enough to get a glass out of the cabinet, though I'm told I should "push through it" and exercise my arms to avoid a frozen shoulder. Nice. It's beautiful outside, and I can't bring myself to step off the porch in fear someone will see my nasty drains that I can't really adequately hide. I'm sick of TV. Didn't love it to start with. My belly is swollen and sore from injections they did at the hospital.
I'm depressed. There. I said it. I'm horribly sadly depressed and I woke up crying this morning. I'm pissed. And sad. And worried about the future. I'm broke. Being sick is expensive. I'm bored. I'm sore. I have long bloody tubes dangling from my underarms.
I'm tired of people telling me how great I look. I don't look great. I look terrible. I'm pale, my hair is coming back completely gray, and I walk around like I'm 90 years old.
I'm sick of soup. Please. No more soup.
The bright side? I am clean. I got to shower for the first time in over a week. At least I don't smell. Anymore.
No comments:
Post a Comment