October 20, 2014: Post Op Day 4 - Messy is better in pairs.

Another night under my belt. I got 12 hours again which is a testament to the lack of fun the previous night. I still can't say I'm rested. I've got this heavy, saturated, damp, occlusive fog persuading my mental faculties from being all they can be. Everything is in slow motion and connected with shifting images. Clear in the center, blurry in the periphery. THIS is why I detest anesthesia (not enough to not get it of course). The detest is strong. It stays with me as an un-welcomed intruder. Nagging and taunting me and laughing when I reach my folly. I haven't had pain medications since Friday afternoon so I know anesthesia is to blame. I loathe it, and it loves me so much so that it sets up residence for days on end. But I'm making do with what I have and apologizing when words come across jumbled, or there is a delay in response to a question asked. Or if I answer "jello" when Ron asks where my shoes are. Ok, that hasn't happened, but there have been some close calls. And the nausea, we have to find a way to part. You're making each hour less love-able.

Last night, we, well lets say Ron, checked out the incision again. Ron still described healthy looking tissues, no redness or drainage. And no fever since Saturday so I think the infection risk is virtually gone now. I've shoved gauze over the area to keep the sports bra from tugging on the stitches. That thought alone makes my stomach somersault in rebellion. I'm squeamish with that, as you know and as I've always been since the very first surgery now 2 years ago. I can hardly even believe that? In many ways it seems like last month when I first stepped under those bright OR lights with Lead Breast Surgeon. But in many ways it seems like a millennium ago. This I know, two years is too long of a time to be dealing with a prophylactic procedure. It should be a one stop shop and you move on. That was not my fate though and is a voucher for the mental toll these procedures can take on women and the complexity that can arise when things don't go exactly as expected. And imagine adding in a definitive cancer diagnosis. Mercy me. That would be a whole new level.

Maybe my journey was a little longer because of all of my radiation exposure. Three surgeries routine (mastectomy, reconstruction, and lipografting) and two surgeries from complications (cellulitis and slipped implant plus some delayed wound healing after reconstruction began). Lead Plastic Surgeon had said it could go either way, and that was the very reason his choices were always so conservative along the way. I respect that in him, though it delayed my time course some. Slow still gets across the line, right? I HAVE to think this is the last surgery. Odds point to that for as time goes along, surely the risk of complication lessens in tandem. This was my journey, my moment, and I see the last book chapter on the horizon. It's sitting there beckoning me. Calling my name to ink the last period.

Ron is back at work today. That alone seems a little more familiar. Meanwhile, I'm here drooling on the sofa with Oliver. Once step closer. I'm still shooting for work on Wednesday, in just 2 days. But I just need to get myself "together" a little bit more. Less glassy eyed, a little more confidence and sanity, and a little less wobble. I don;t need coworkers wondering what I am on or scaring them with my less than steadfast gaze. I feel so very little from the actual incision. Again, a blessing of having no nerve endings in my lower quadrant of the breast. At times I feel a tug, or a minimal discomfort, or a menace of an itch. But basically, it's just there coexisting. I'm planning on looking at it myself before I go back to work . It just needs to happen. And I hope you will notice this will be a blow out in timing compared to previous surgeries where it took me months to look. I'm gaining ground you know. I'm not the wuss I once was. Laughing. Ok, I'm still sort of the wuss. And I'm sure I will cry a bit, but then it will be done. I'm figuring out the crying isn't about sadness. I'm not sad.  Not even a bit.The crying when I, or even anyone else, sees the scar is something more primal. The scar is reflective of the decision, and the decision was unexpected, and unexpected is something I am not (I pride myself in being able to get through just about anything with my head held high and my sanity in check with perspective in tow). This "unexpected" for the first time in my life rolled me up into complex ball which tumbled me down the hill as I sorted and analyzed and struggled to grasp at anything that made sense to me. Note, I really am still normal and the same ole rational Sally, but underneath the mastectomy bandage lies something mixed in for good measure. There is something to these breasts that I don't fully understand, but it mingles with an identity. The great news is it doesn't hold me back and in fact it sculpts me into something even better. With each passing month (and surgery!) I'm closer to the design God intended in this moment. I actually can find happiness in my mastectomy. I appreciate the ongoing challenge, and the way it surprised me about myself, and the outcome is surreal. I'm more confident in myself as I navigate this unexpected. I'm also more relate-able as I've grown to truly love everyone around me and value what they bring to my life. Even the unlovable became lovable, as I can see how people are molded by their circumstances and everyone has something underneath that the rest of the world around them aren't privy to. Ron laughs when we are driving down the road and he gets frustrated with a slow driver. I yell out "they may be returning home from mastectomy surgery, Ron!" We all have something. Every single one of us are one decision or one mishap away from "messy". I'm them, they are me. Both messy and getting through it all. So I'm grateful for these 5 surgical moments and it propelling me into a better Sally. I don't have it all down pat, but I'm less embarrassed over crying over a mastectomy scar, more likely to cry with you over yours, and more encouraged as each scar heals what lies within. God is gracious indeed.

My one and only hope for my transparency to you these last two years is that one of you will survive your moment a little more intact, no matter what that moment is, because of something in mine. And that you will see it's ok and totally normal to be  a little "unsettled" and "messy" as you go as long as you are still moving forward and grabbing onto perspective along the way. Your story isn't only for you. Don't deny someone else the opportunity to help you through it or for them to utilize and mimic some glimmer of sanity you may have in the process. It's better to be messy in pairs, I say. Hope is contagious.

Be gone, anesthesia! Your role is now over. You're definitely holding me back. And scar, I've got your number. Be prepared for a formal meeting in the next 24 hour. You don't own me..."and sometimes we just have to deal with what the good Lord gave us".

Joshua 1:9 

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”