April 17: I’ve been carrying all this Boobage (baggage) around the last few days. Saturday I found myself in a funk. It resolved Sunday morning only to creep itself back in with a vengeance Monday. It did not help that I went back to work (work from home due to the infusions) Monday and instead of easing myself back in, I worked 10 hours that day. Everyone keeps saying “take care of your self”, “slow down”. Well that is easy to do under any other circumstance than the one I find myself in now at my job. Monday, it was one thing after another and it just kept building up and building up until when my friend, Cassie (name changed to protect the guilty), came by to bring meal. I opened the door, saw her sweet face, and busted out into tears. Nasty tears! It didn’t help that the previous night, I noticed that boob #2.2 was again feeling warmer than it’s mirror image boob #1. And that’s how all of this started 2 weeks ago. Ron and I went to bed very fearful that the infection was returning. (Thankfully, that comes and goes and is not a constant symptom, so we feel more safe). And then came the waiting to see how that would unfold. Combine those emotions with a super busy return to work and I was a not so faith-filled Sally. I was just having one of those days, make that 72 hours, and I couldn’t part with those emotions. Boobage! And it didn’t help that in that 72 hours I turned 38. I’m not used to this waxing and waning in positivity. I’m pretty rock solid on that. Make that "Was".
I found myself back in the breast clinic today for my first post-surgery follow-up appointment. I do not miss that waiting room. I do however still hold my respect for the women in that waiting room. Despite that respect, I had been super happy-go-lucky for the past 4 months not visiting that location except for professional purposes. I had finally moved on, successfully parted with the emotions that linger post mastectomy. They weren’t fully gone, but they were part of my historical journey. No longer a day-to-day play-by play that invades your every hour. I no longer thought about boobs around the clock. The imposters had incorporated themselves into my person. So to find myself back in the drama of mastectomy again was rather unsettling. I simply wanted to be done. I was done. Now, I’m here again. It’s different, but vastly similar. Similar enough to be more than uncomfortable. And then there were the gowns. And the show-and-tell. And the cold room.
Lead Plastic Surgeon was pleased with the progress thus far. He noted some irritation/redness around the stitches, but we are just watching that. And the swelling. Always the swelling. (Will that ever go away?) I think I was set back 6 months for the swelling. Then he commented casually “we are not out of the woods yet”. The true test will be when we stop the antibiotics next week and it will go one of two ways. Continue to improve no problems. Infection returns because it’s stuck in the deep tissue around the High Profile Smooth Round Gel Implant. Have mercy if that were to occur. I don’t think I care to go through a 4th surgery for these boobs. And he even said he wasn’t sure he could do his “best work ever” a third time. That was just tempting fate! I promised him all would go well. He promised me. And we left with that Pact on the examining table. I never break a promise. Let’s hope he has that same character trait.
Boobage, be gone! I have no place for you. I’d rather be filled with over flowing gratitude. It will return again. It always does. It’s lurking just under the surface.
