Day 23: I realize I never gave you a full update from my reconstruction followup appt two days ago. So here you go for inquiring minds who have a need for details.
I had already mentioned how my mind started wandering in the waiting room. All of these women waiting for their breast cancer appt. Oh how different my journey could have been. These women who have more on their plate and minds on this one day than I may have in years of my own (much longer than my silly 23 days). A shout out to those readers who have struggled with this very challenging battle. The Sarahs and Rachels of my life. My hat off and heart open to you. And my apologies for not supporting you more than I did in your journey. And anyone else facing a cancer diagnosis. I've been there and I know that it sucketh! Each day is a battle itself and the mind lay heavy. But cancer is meant to be conquered! And when not, no doubt, purpose comes from heart break. I see that first hand in my career.
So there we sit among these incredible women and I'm quickly reminded why I chose the crazy choice. Why this ever so frightening decision to move forward with a mastectomy became much less frightening than the alternative. These women reminded me of the value and intent of my choice.
"Sally McCollum?"
Well, here we go. Back to the intake room for a weight check (Again for the umpteenth time. It hasn't changed, people! Well, ok so it has.) Blood pressure check. Temp. All well except for the weight. Then, move to the patient room. "please slip on this gown, open in the front, and remove everything underneath." Truly, my favorite part of any appointment. At least I won't be embarrassed by someone seeing my new granny bra. But a quick reminder that yet again there is absolutely no dignity in this adventure. Slip on gown and wait. Well slip on gown seems way more simple that the actual. It's a lengthy process getting dressed and redressed with four drains coming out of your side. And a chest wall that feels like you just completed training for iron man. It's a very strategic maneuvering of this and that to change clothes. Painful! Ron and I have it down pat by now, but still it's a process with many organized steps involved.
I'm actually a little excited to see lead plastic surgeon. I haven't seen him since the hour before reconstruction surgery when he came in with his little black marker to practice his Picasso techniques. I wanted to hear his thoughts of how it went. Well, knock knock, and in he walks with this huge grin on his face.
I actually think he was just as excited to see me. (From the get go, I think he had considered me his challenge. His Goliath. My radiated damaged chest his rival and foe that needed to be put in it's place. His chance to get it right and prove to the plastic community that this can be done.) "Sally, before I say anything else, I did my very best work just as I promised."...."and sorry about the four drains." I laughed but gave him ample ragging about the pesky little suckers and how I wanted to throw something at him when i woke up and saw not 2 but 4. He was very sneaky.
Sally: "Ok, now let's see the masterpiece." Then, I drop my gown and wait.
Silence.
Sally: "Ut oh, what?" I've been worried about the viability of the skin so I'm sitting there worried he sees something wrong. To break the silence and tension I ask him to pay me a dollar for having the opportunity to see the imposters. (I figure if I had charged people all along I would have enough for that bora bora trip we've been wanting to take.)
Then he just grins. A big ole slap happy grin. "My very best work!" It looks great. Better than I was expecting considering all the risks we had. Tissue looks great. No redness. I ask him about all the swelling and tightness and was that normal? Lots of dialogue I won't bore you with her. (Remember, I've never had reconstruction before, so who knows how it's supposed to feel or look). He says that yes, it seems a little tighter than normal so I should now go bra less for two weeks.
What??? Did he just say "bra less?" In my 37 years of existence, I've never once been able to go bra less. He has lost his every living mind. But he is insistent that I need to reduce the pressure on the chest so that the tissue underneath gets enough blood supply to stay viable and not damage the implant. He's concerned, but not worried. So bra less it will be, but it's freaking me out. I didn't have the heart to tell him my mom had just purchased SEVEN new granny no support no frill no fun bras. Note to self: break this news to mom gently after the appointment.
"Sally, I couldn't be more pleased with how the tissue has adjusted. Now we just wait."
"Lead plastic surgeon, I have to take your word for it. I have nothing to compare it to. You did a beautiful job, but they still are odd, weird, and awkward." I inserted the story about how it feels getting new hands (see previous post). He said that was the perfect analogy he could now use with patients. "I love you're work, thank so much, but I'm still adjusting and it's gong to be a while before I love, or even like, your work."
"Sally, no lifting for another week. Then, on Monday, start these exercises. We need to get your strength and mobility back. I'm very pleased and optimistic that we've passed the worry point, but I want to see you back in two weeks." (paraphrased)
Sally: "Doc, now there's the matter of these pesky little drains that make living absolutely miserable." - I can be a tad dramatic. Smile. "Well then, let's take them out!" (I did try and talk him into the complementary liposuction, but he want budging. Maybe if I remind him my abdomen had been radiated to he might find liposuction an equally fun challenge. At that point at the confirmation of drain removal, all of heaven opened up with sound of the hallelujah chorus. David pulled out his harp. Peter a harmonica. I personally saw Moses grab Ruth's arm for a celebratory fox trot across the cloud covered floor. Jesus himself tapped a foot in rhythm. Even my Ron sitting next to me had a smile (he's not known for getting super excited about stuff). And God simply winked an eye at me, him fully aware he himself had orchestrated this perfect moment. (I will spare you the details of hyperventilation that occurred during the drain removal).
Long gone are the drains!!! Long gone is the gore! Long gone is my screeching when we milk the tubing. Long gone are my tears where we clean the sight. Hello, freedom! He promised provision. There hadn't been a single glitch since August 7. My course could have gone every shade of bad. It had every earthly reason to. He doesn't promise the Christian the perfect life or even a good day. He just promises his hand in every twist and turn. But he does love to shower his children with blessings. And blessings galore have I. I'm not worthy, therefore, I'm immensely grateful. So whatever his purpose and intent in giving me the easy road, I promise to make it worth while. So we aren't completely out off the woods, but i can see the river ahead. Praise the Lord that both surgeons are so pleased considering where we started. He said I may need some revisions, that we will know more in a few weeks, but for now watch and wait while the tissue continues to heal and settle. Hopefully, the pain will start to lessen soon, though I'm not sure with the exercises, and the swelling will become less. Stay tuned! There's more to come in this journey for sure. I wait with baited breath.
