Day 92 Sucking in the Whitewash

I was born and raised a Californian, and spent many days in the cold Pacific Ocean.  Large waves, big rocks and sunburned noses filled my teenage years.  I remember the exhilaration of riding those large powerful breakers with nostalgia.  The Gulf Coast with it's sugar sand and warm water do not compare to the savage power of that crushing surf.  If you aren't savvy you might not know to dive through the walls of those blue waves, toward the top so as not to be caught underneath the crush all of that water.

We called it "sucking in the white wash."  When the power and weight of all of that water surging in and returning creates a vortex that forces you down into the white foam near the bottom and tosses you around like a rag doll on spin cycle, helpless to break out until the ocean is merciful and you are surrendered.  Disoriented, you swim like mad to reach the surface before the next wave comes or your breath runs out.

That is how I feel right now.  Several hours after having my drains pulled (the second time was much easier) I started to feel unwell, but drove my daughter anyway to her long delayed hair styling appointment.  It was not long after arriving at the salon that I began to feel seriously sick.  Stupidly I made arrangements for my daughter to get back home and then drove myself back.  I got home safely, but if I had my wits about me I would have made someone come and get me, I do not remember much of that drive.  My temperature upon arrival was 102.8 and rising.

The following saga includes and urgent care center, a stupid doctor, IV for antibiotics and dehydration.  Infection #2, this time it's staph but we're on it from the start.  I feel like garbage and am wiped out, the meds are making me sick, but the fever is gone.  My lungs are screaming as I swim like mad for the surface.

Day 84 Yarn Balls

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.

Day 59 Howling

I have an issue with my plastic surgeon.  He made it sound like expanders followed by a permanent silicone implant would be a piece of cake.  We would gradually, conservatively add fluid and the result would be two hard lumps making space for the piece de resistance: beautiful, new boobies.

If I had it to do over again I would have used my own tissue. I have ended every day in tears this last week because I can do very little with my arms that doesn't cause my pectoralis muscles to spasm over these hard, saline filled, nodules-from-hell. My chest wall feels like fire. Every day of this week has found me stoned and flat on my back.  Forget the risk of tissue necrosis, longer recovery and long surgical day, at least I wouldn't be looking at an entire summer strung out on Loritab and Flexoril.

I am two days out from my last expansion and having my remaining drains pulled.  These drains were located nearest to the chest wall and were "borderline" in their collection of salmon colored serous fluid.  The doctor tells me that the remaining fluid collecting around the expanders should be a good thing as it would help with my gradual expansion.  He then filled my numb breasts with 50 ccs of saline and left the nurse to yank my drains.

I completely separated from my body as my nurse clipped the suture that held the drain to the inflamed site and then yanked.  I heard a howl, but didn't register that it came from me until the grey cleared and I could again see the ceiling of the exam room.  I had a better hold on reality for the next one, but I am not sure that's a good thing.  Afterwards, I thanked the nurse through my tears because not to do so would be rude and, after all, my drains were now out and that is a wonderful thing.  My husband says I went from spider to insect to human, never thought of it that way but it is a wonderful thing to FEEL human again.

By the time we arrived back home the pressure in my chest was agony and I went straight for the meds and another lovely afternoon on my back trying not to move or breathe.  I have 250ccs in right now with 150 to go.  One of my frankenboobies is bruised and purple due to the Expander vs. Muscle cage match that is currently being waged on my chest wall.

Today is a better day.  I am two weeks out from surgery now, and I am told that I am doing great.  This morning my husband picked me up so that I could attend my son's graduation from middle school.  I saw him cross the stage and take his certificate and it occured to me that my time with him and his sister is so finite and precious.  I hate this process all the more for looting my time with them.