Recovery, as advertised, has not been a cakewalk. The first 24 hours after surgery, they woke me up every hour to check on my new boobs. The whoosh, whoosh of healthy blood flow soon became a reassuring sound. All is well, all is well.
The next day, it was every two hours. Needless to say, I was happy to get released to home the third day, where I could begin to think about getting some decent sleep (in between doses of pain meds).
The drains were a bit less painful than I remembered from 13 years ago - medicine has figured out better ways to anchor the tails in place, and if they don't move, they don't hurt as much. Still, I was thankful for the assistance of modern pharmaceuticals the ten days they were in place.
The last one came out last Thursday - which meant I was free to go back to sleeping on my side, where I normally sleep. I came home, and immediately fell onto my bed and into the sweetest 90 minute restorative nap I can remember. I woke up thinking I might make it through this after all.
Julia, my sister, stayed with me the past two weeks; her presence made everything easier. She took care of dog walking and dishes, floor cleaning and laundry. All I had to do was to work on figuring out how to heal.
She's gone home now, but the neighbors have taken over dog-walking duty, and I'm able to do dishes and laundry on my own again. The floors are just going to have to be dirty.
The Meal Train has been oh-so-reliable, and oh-so-helpful. It'll be another month before I can lift more than 10 lbs, and having dinner show up every other night saves me from trying to figure out what I can safely cook. (On the off nights, leftovers rule!)
The surgery left me hurting in odd places. I expected the pain in my lower stomach, the fat donor site, and my chest, where whatever portion of it was grafted into place. What I wasn't expecting was the tightness across my mid-section. Everything from my ribs down is drum-tight. There are odd points of pain as my body attempts to sort out just what happened; my nerve endings don't know how to interpret the sensations. Today is two weeks out, and I am just now *almost* able to stand up straight.
I am off the prescription pain meds, just need the occasional dose of Tylenol or Advil to quiet my poor jangled nerves when I've coughed too hard or moved wrong (still figuring out what that means!). My energy is limited, but that is to be expected.
I miss moving, I miss yoga. But I can walk, as long as I don't sweat - so am grateful I didn't have the surgery in July - and walking is better than nothing.
I'm not yet quite past "what the h-e-double-toothpicks was I thinking" phase of the healing process, but I'm getting there. Already breathing is easier; my chest can move more freely without the implants stretching my pec muscles 24x7. That, in itself, is huge.
If I squint, I can almost see the "this was a GREAT idea" phase on the horizon. Assuming I can keep from messing up the surgeon's good work for the next month, I'll be left with warm, living breasts - belly boobs someone called them. I like that.
One step at a time. I'll get there.
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