Wednesday has come and gone and I still have two drains sticking out of my chest, a little more than 5 inches below my arm pit, held in place by a single stitch and tunneling between my expanders and chest wall. Unpleasant would be a tactful word for them, painful is more accurate. Painful because they hurt of course, but also because they separate me from the things I want to do, like drive, work, sleep on my sides, exercise, ride my horse, visit my horse, drive to visit my horse. I have been confined for 6 weeks now and the surgeon won't pull them out until my daily volume decreases by 20 ccs. I might lose my mind.
I tried teaching myself to knit but have been forced to admit that, while skilled in many other things, I am a hopeless knitter. My yarn balls are now being appreciated by my Fanny, my Blue Heeler puppy. Poor Fanny, she looks at me like I have failed her with my confinement. No more long days in the pastures, eating horse poop, splashing through mud puddles and herding any beast sorry enough to stand still. Like most Blue Heelers she needs lots of activity and sadly has none. She vents by shredding anything she can find and laying half dead roaches at my feet.
We are all coping the best we can. My aspie daughter told me that I am ruining her summer, which should be spent with friends preferably in a pool and NOT taking care of her mother. She tells it like it is, no guessing necessary with her. My son is lucky enough to spend this month at camp, but was reluctant to slip away while I still need care. My poor husband enters the house holding a dining chair in one hand and a whip in the other, just in case his tiger of a wife decides to leap off her recliner and at his exposed throat.
Undeniably as long as my body keeps draining I will have these drains anchoring me like a boat in a harbor. But a harbor is not where boats are meant to be and I dream of sailing away.