Yesterday has been my worst day by far. For whatever reason I am taking forever to clear out all of the anesthesia. I'm even laughing at myself walking around in my zombie like state. It seemed to be never ending. This grey fog floating around in my head making every task 10 times harder than it had to be. By mid day, I gave up fighting the fog and just slept the rest of the day away. I THINK I might have less of that fog today. It sort of comes and goes. I woke up feeling about 75%, now I'm back to 50%, but high hopes for the afternoon. One positive note is the abdominal pain and chest pain is a good bit less today. So that is a huge score. Hopeful tomorrow I can go to my office job and start swinging back into life again. I'm ready to have this notch on the boob rope float into the past.
While my mental fog is somewhat less, we have a little spot we are watching on Boob 2.2. I have the overachieving ability to become a foster parent to spots. You will recall a spot last October 2012 when we introduced you to Barkley. Barkley had planted himself at the bottom of my incision scar and worked in a desperate attempt to make me miserable. He finally did seal himself over after a few weeks, much to everyone's delight as we were afraid he would be a source for infection. He came, he went, and all was happy. Then in April 2013, THE SPOT make himself known. Full blown cellulitis that spread in a 12 hour period to cover the entire right breast leading to emergency surgery and the replacement of Boob 2 with Boob 2.2. Three weeks of antibiotics and good bit of frustration later, the spot was terminated. I have a lot of spots currently, some are incision marks with stitches, but the most are deep purple bruises scattered about. But there is this one spot that is like no other- Spot #3, introducing Franklin. Ron found Franklin last night when we were switching out bandages. Me squealing with every tweak of the tape. I hate removing bandages. I feel sure you had picked up on that about me before. I used to be a rock star with anything medical, but since the mastectomy I don't tolerate my very own medical procedures so well. Well after the squealing on my part, Ron finds Franklin perched in the outer quadrant of Boob 2.2. He measures about 1 inch x 1 inch and is the perfect deep red color of cellulitis. I snapped a picture of it and sent it to Lead Plastic Surgeon for some input. Gotta love tele-medicine. He replied that he too didn't know exactly what Franklin was but that we needed to watch it very closely for any sign of change, growth, or fever and we then head straight to the ER. I have to say I am not that worried about it. That's because it hasn't grown in 12 hours. And remember, last time in 12 hours I went from a 1 x 1 spot to an entire breast becoming fire engine red and painful. None of that here as of yet. I can't even feel the spot, so I am very hopeful it's just a reaction to something. Franklin will be my friend instead of my foe. My star foster child. But at the same time I have no problems at all with each of you praying Franklin to a new Foster home. I've enjoyed my time with him and now I am ready to release him out to spread his wings on on his own. For my sanity. I will also add that my surgeon is out of the country right now and if this thing progressed, I would be working with a substitute. Not that I don't have faith in that new person, but me a lead plastic surgeon have come so far and I'd like him to stay on board with anything that might arise. He's has promised me an ongoing contract of "best work ever" and I have worked hard to hold him to that promise. No guarantees for the substitute. Ok, so I'm not going to think about it anymore. Done! But I sure do wish you guys could see me and Ron with his engineer scale ruler drawing a box around the spot. You would get a great chuckle. The things he and I have had to do during this boob journey. At least we can still laugh. And at least he didn't yell out again "it looks like salsa!"
Oh what fun it is.
