Dragging More Than Just My Feet

DeGrazia Studio, Tucson, AZ

I normally enjoy the time I spend composing these blog entries.

But, for some reason, today's has been hard - I've been trying to get myself to do it since yesterday, in fact.

Part, is the continued fog from the painkillers.  I like to think I can still think coherently while on them, but have quickly discovered that if it's not written down, I don't recall the details.  and I have a tendency to repeat myself until I get the aforementioned items written down.  I'm afraid I'll miss something important.

I find transition between fog and pain annoying.  I can think and hurt some, or I can be in a happy doze.  I've cut back some on the annoyance by cutting the doses in half, then taking them twice as often, so I don't get the ups and downs, but it's still tiring.  (For the curious, I'm currently on Vicoden and Valium, with Percocet as a backup in case the Vicoden doesn't cut the mustard.  I can see why Valium was the drug of choice back when - I care about what, because????  In my case, it happens to be one of the best muscle relaxants in current pharmacology, and is helping my chest adjust to its new dimensions.

The drainage tubes hurt - my body has not yet figured it doesn't need to send the lymph fluid and blood to the tissue that's no longer there. Showers are the hardest, since there's no way to both get them clean and keep them secure at the same time, but I'm making progress.  I made it most of the way through today's without having to sit down suddenly to avoid passing out.  That's one!  (The current projection is the tubes will come out mid-next week.  Let's hope that holds true.)

The harder part for me has been the psychological shift.  Yes, I am grateful the lymph nodes are clear.  And from what I've seen thus far, the new girls will look better than the ones they replaced; my surgeon is very good. 

But. 

How to replace the memories of a young girl, anxiously inspecting the mirror each morning for signs of impending womanhood; the insistence on wearing a bra because everyone else did, even though I had to keep tugging it down all day because there was nothing for it to support.  The nerve endings are severed; never again will I feel a tug in my chest when I hear a hungry newborn crying in a store.  The old ones were battered and scarred, yes.  But given a little strategic support, they looked good, and they had earned their sags.  They provided a great start for the wonderful adults I still think of as my babies.

And the new ones aren't here yet.  Now, all I see when I look at my chest are raw and sore scars - a reminder of a something gone horribly awry - a something that no one can tell me the cause of.   A something I plan to catch and eliminate from my life.  but there is fear underneath.  sometimes, it doesn't work.  sometimes, people never get to finish their camper van trips.

And while I will get from here to there, today I fear the pain to come.  (which will, I'm sure, be far worse in the anticipation than in the reality - at least that's how fear works in my life.)

So, please continue to send your support and prayers my way.  They do help.  I need to walk this road, but I don't walk it alone, and that makes all the difference.  Thank you for listening.