The last two weeks have marked a measured ease in the pain department which in turn has fueled some extra energy. I still feel "low" comparatively speaking, far less general energy and longer sleep cycles. And by sleep I mean laying flat on my back in bed, yearning to curl onto my side and snuggle into my fluffy pillows and engage in some productive REM cycles.
Alas, side sleeping still annoys the incisions and thereby proves futile for now.
With pain shifting to mere discomfort I am considering scar minimization options.
Silicone sheeting has been touted as being the most effective means of reducing scars, so naturally I ordered some. Predictably, my plastic surgeon doesn't believe in such treatments. He believes that excellent cuts and genetics determine healing.
Sure hope he's right as I have a Halloween costume and Holiday dress whose success depend on it!
And since I am still not able to wear a real bra they will most certainly be on display.
It is odd to have paid $8,060 for a "cosmetic" surgery that only I can appreciate.
I am grateful to be back to a near-normal gym routine. Still not jogging yet but I think that will come soon enough.
Despite continued movement I remain chilled to the bone. The only place I feel remotely warm is in my car with the heated seats cranked all the way up. I shiver in my office under my sweater and scarf, my teeth chatter in bed with puffy blankets tucked in around me, and I have goosebumps on my lungs. I am cold and there seems to be no help for it.
Perhaps I should explore adding alcohol back to my diet, that might warm me from the inside out.
Anything is worth a try!
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Day 23 Post-Op aka Surgery Was Just The Beginning
Yes, they still hurt.
And if one more person looks at me squint-eyed at this news I am going to flash them my new boobs and they can see for themselves that I have 20 linear inches of incisions over one of the most sensitive areas of the female body. Healing skin and flesh is tight and itchy and tender and fragile. And it doesn't heal magically overnight.
Healing is a process not an event. There are literally thousands of tiny sutures being digested by my body every minute of every day. Which will take as long as it takes. Some minutes are pain free, most offer just a low grade annoyance. Toward the end of the day though when my body is exhausted and tired of being put upon they get super cranky and two Tylenol don't touch the burning.
As it turns out, surgery was just the beginning.
After three weeks my lower back has finally voiced it's objections to the situation. Sleeping solely on my back is an insult too much to bear. That is until I try sleeping on my side when the boobs weigh in and refuse to have any of it. Rock meet Hard Place.
This too shall pass. But not tomorrow, or even the next day.
And if one more person looks at me squint-eyed at this news I am going to flash them my new boobs and they can see for themselves that I have 20 linear inches of incisions over one of the most sensitive areas of the female body. Healing skin and flesh is tight and itchy and tender and fragile. And it doesn't heal magically overnight.
Healing is a process not an event. There are literally thousands of tiny sutures being digested by my body every minute of every day. Which will take as long as it takes. Some minutes are pain free, most offer just a low grade annoyance. Toward the end of the day though when my body is exhausted and tired of being put upon they get super cranky and two Tylenol don't touch the burning.
As it turns out, surgery was just the beginning.
After three weeks my lower back has finally voiced it's objections to the situation. Sleeping solely on my back is an insult too much to bear. That is until I try sleeping on my side when the boobs weigh in and refuse to have any of it. Rock meet Hard Place.
This too shall pass. But not tomorrow, or even the next day.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Day 17 Post-Op aka A Series of Most Unpleasant Sensations
There was no getting around it, ducking the issue, or hiding from my plastic surgeon.
The tape must come off.
Feeling like that was literally the only thing holding my breasts on my body I was understandably reluctant to have the surgical tape removed. I had grown to rely on it and had learned to avoid washing it in the shower so as not to hasten it's ultimate demise. My skin was also quite attached to it as well.
Clearly this was a bond I was in no particular rush to break.
And yet Dr D's insistence that I part ways with my comfort tape made it clear that I had to give it up.
Prepared with more ginger ale and crackers in case I passed out from the anxiety of it all, I tried to relax into the competent hands of his kind assistant. She applied a liquid to help dissolve the adhesive and commenced to plucking and picking and ultimately pulling at the persistent tape, apparently it had grown quite fond of my breasts as well.
One side done she was observant enough to give me a break before starting in on the second candidate. 10 minutes of bonding with my new found soul sister gave me enough courage to give up the bond between my left breast and it's tape. 2 minutes later and there was nothing between me and my new surgical incisions. Sweat palms and woozy head, I give them a good long .25 second stare, popped my cami back on and was ready to roll.
A million surgies, a brazillian waxes, and tattoos to infinity and beyond would have been preferable to that experience.
Alas it is but an increasingly distant and Most Unpleasant memory.
The tape must come off.
Feeling like that was literally the only thing holding my breasts on my body I was understandably reluctant to have the surgical tape removed. I had grown to rely on it and had learned to avoid washing it in the shower so as not to hasten it's ultimate demise. My skin was also quite attached to it as well.
Clearly this was a bond I was in no particular rush to break.
And yet Dr D's insistence that I part ways with my comfort tape made it clear that I had to give it up.
Prepared with more ginger ale and crackers in case I passed out from the anxiety of it all, I tried to relax into the competent hands of his kind assistant. She applied a liquid to help dissolve the adhesive and commenced to plucking and picking and ultimately pulling at the persistent tape, apparently it had grown quite fond of my breasts as well.
One side done she was observant enough to give me a break before starting in on the second candidate. 10 minutes of bonding with my new found soul sister gave me enough courage to give up the bond between my left breast and it's tape. 2 minutes later and there was nothing between me and my new surgical incisions. Sweat palms and woozy head, I give them a good long .25 second stare, popped my cami back on and was ready to roll.
A million surgies, a brazillian waxes, and tattoos to infinity and beyond would have been preferable to that experience.
Alas it is but an increasingly distant and Most Unpleasant memory.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Day 13 Post-Op aka Mother is Always Right
With some continued soreness I was skeptical about traipsing through Oracle Open World traffic for my afternoon meeting with an out-of-country VP. So I took my mommy with me!!! With my back-up pilot secured we braved cross town traffic and headed into the City. The new Eastern bridge span entranced us with it's Made in China glow, dazzling mommy through the sun roof.
I'm pretty sure it took as long to get from the base of the bridge through .9 miles of city traffic as it did from home to that point.
With 20 minutes to spare we triumphantly pulled into Valet parking ... only to be told that Valet was an all day service for $48. The man kindly suggested parking for the required 90 minutes in their lot across the street.
The building loomed large, a vertical parking structure with tight turns and narrower corners. A nightmare of a garage under normal circumstances. My boobs ached just looked at it.
The despair in my eyes must have been apparent from across the street, as I stood transfixed next to my car and the Valet, another parking attendant sprinted over and gallantly offered to drive my car over and park it for me. Relief washed over me and I pressed the keys into his hands, not a second thought about my car (which is wild considering my normal inclination is unnaturally protective of my vehicles). My mom whispered, "give him a BIG tip". I agreed. She insisted that I hand it over NOW. I scoffed and said I'd get him when we picked up the car, that's how it's done.
Tucking my mommy securely into the hotel bar, ginger cocktail in hand, garlic truffle fries on the way, I made my meeting with 10 minutes to spare.
An hour later I retrieved my mommy and asked for the bill, only to find out that she had already paid for her own drinks and fries!! Well, she'd had two and wasn't sure I could afford the second one. Really???? REALLY???
Ashamed that I had let my mom pick up her own bar tab we went to fetch my car. Which was literally waiting for me in the driveway of the tiny tight garage entrance, thrilled I scanned for my chivalrous parking attendant, money in hand. He was nowhere to be found, the cashier had no idea who I was even talking about.
With mounting shame we got into the car, "Yes, Mom, I know I should have tipped him when you told me to".
The drive home was a breeze but don't doubt for a second that the first thing I did when I got in the door was to whip off my bra and breathe a huge sigh of relief.
Day 12 Post-Op aka "No Thanks"
Dr Degnan: Everything looks perfect, do you want to take the tape off today?
Me: No thanks
Me: No thanks
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Day 11 Post-Op aka Normal v Narcoleptic
Vacillating between normal and narcolepsy for the last several days, I am blessed to be working from home. The littlest thing tires me out, making me sleepy and wishing that I could guarantee a nap wouldn't leave me wide awake at 2am. No sense risking it, I remain mostly awake.
Plus no one wants to see me take my bralette on/off that many times in a day. Nothing is comfortable: too tight when it's on, too loose when it's off, it's exhausting. Really.
The pain has been totally manageable since Day 3 Post-Op, just taking the occasional Tylenol when the aching returns. It's strange, it feels exactly like someone cut off the bottom half of my breasts and stitched them back on. Exactly.
The healing sensations vacillate between burning lines of pain and the prickly itch of a cactus that might have been implanted during surgery and is now growing rapidly inside of me (courtesy of the 100+ oz of water I am tanking every single day), it's needles sharp enough to cause every hair on my body to stand up and say WTF. I can all but feel my body chewing up and digesting the dissolvable sutures. Offended by the surgical tape it is airing it's protest in an itchy rash around my ribs.
What's a girl to do about all of this?? Get her hair done, naturally. I almost feel normal. Almost.
Plus no one wants to see me take my bralette on/off that many times in a day. Nothing is comfortable: too tight when it's on, too loose when it's off, it's exhausting. Really.
The pain has been totally manageable since Day 3 Post-Op, just taking the occasional Tylenol when the aching returns. It's strange, it feels exactly like someone cut off the bottom half of my breasts and stitched them back on. Exactly.
The healing sensations vacillate between burning lines of pain and the prickly itch of a cactus that might have been implanted during surgery and is now growing rapidly inside of me (courtesy of the 100+ oz of water I am tanking every single day), it's needles sharp enough to cause every hair on my body to stand up and say WTF. I can all but feel my body chewing up and digesting the dissolvable sutures. Offended by the surgical tape it is airing it's protest in an itchy rash around my ribs.
What's a girl to do about all of this?? Get her hair done, naturally. I almost feel normal. Almost.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Day 7 Post-Op aka Surgical Tape
I just knew that my surgical tape was starting to slide. And if I didn't get it checked today it would be down around my ankles by Sunday afternoon. Inevitably leading to an emergency call disturbing my saint-like surgeon on Sunday night while he was trying to get some much deserved rest.
Dr D's assistant sweetly squeezed me in between his other patients at the Surgery Center for a quick preventative re-taping.
Now by this point, Dr D has seen more of my breasts that DH so when he hands me a gown and leaves so I can change I have to wonder why. He returns with gauze, tape, and scissors in hand, settles down in front of me, looks hard, takes his glasses off to rub the bridge of his nose, returns them to his face and looks again. Without further hesitation he breaks into a huge grin, turns to DH chuckling, "ok, where's the camera? This must be a candid camera moment right? Because this tape and these breasts are perfect".
DH latches onto this unexpected but hugely welcome opportunity to commiserate with another male about my obsessive brain's innermost failings. A brief bromance blossoms over my bare breasts.
Trying for diversion I quietly ask if I am cleared for longer drives to and from my office, to which Dr D asks of DH, "is she ever ok to drive long distances???".
I take my neurotic boobs home and quietly obsession over the half millimeter movement of the only thing holding them together.
Dr D's assistant sweetly squeezed me in between his other patients at the Surgery Center for a quick preventative re-taping.
Now by this point, Dr D has seen more of my breasts that DH so when he hands me a gown and leaves so I can change I have to wonder why. He returns with gauze, tape, and scissors in hand, settles down in front of me, looks hard, takes his glasses off to rub the bridge of his nose, returns them to his face and looks again. Without further hesitation he breaks into a huge grin, turns to DH chuckling, "ok, where's the camera? This must be a candid camera moment right? Because this tape and these breasts are perfect".
DH latches onto this unexpected but hugely welcome opportunity to commiserate with another male about my obsessive brain's innermost failings. A brief bromance blossoms over my bare breasts.
Trying for diversion I quietly ask if I am cleared for longer drives to and from my office, to which Dr D asks of DH, "is she ever ok to drive long distances???".
I take my neurotic boobs home and quietly obsession over the half millimeter movement of the only thing holding them together.
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