When you live with a pair of 32 DDs for this long you start taking certain things for granted: never stand up without a bra, never lie down without a bra, never ever workout without two bras.
Today all of that would change for me.
Hair washed, dried, and tied cleanly in a pony tail, DH and I made the trek to the surgery center sans our obligatory morning coffee.
Once checked in, the staff efficiently removed all indications that I was a real person, changed my sweats and hoodie for a cotton gown, hair cap and paper boats. There was some discussion as to where I should apply the paper boats, ultimately we settled on my feet.
My surgeon was present the entire time and made me feel as comfortable as possible considering that I was basically allowing him to remove both my breasts and reattach them in a more optimal position.
My DH watched in fascination as I was marked and measured for cutting.
My anesthesiologist became my new best friend when he gave the ok for Versed to be administered in the IV tapped into my wrist.
No turning back now, they wheeled me into the Operating Room. I was handed a mask to hold over my mouth and asked to breathe deeply. My brain tried to panic when a little red lever on the mouth piece shifted ... alas I was out before I could ask if I had screwed up yet another aspect of my pre-surgical prep.
"I'm sorry I changed my mind, let's not do surgery" were the first words out of my mouth as the nurses tried to bring me out of the anesthesia. Surprisingly no one looked horror struck at this reversal revelation. Also not surprisingly I continued to fight the process, kicking off my blankets and nearly tearing the IV out of my wrist. More anti-nasuea meds on board and I started feeling a bit more human.
What felt like mere moments later I was whisked, literally, at like 20 mph and dumped from wheel chair into the passenger seat of my car, for what would be the longest 30 minutes of my life.
Time warped and waved it's middle finger at me as my DH gently maneuvered my SUV through city streets and two freeways to get me homehomehome. I shoved crackers into my mouth to keep from having anything come up the wrong way, wildly wishing for a hole in the earth to swallow me up and obliterate the confusion and pain and dizziness washing over me in tsunamis.
I had the temerity to complain when DH backed the car into the driveway to provide closer access to the front door. Ungrateful and unrepentant, I fell into my pre-made nest on the monster couch to suffer in what I hoped was relative silence. Talking hurt, breathing hurt, existing hurt.
My friends had lied. Betrayal nestled into my soul, they had made no mention of the degree of pain this would carry. They never hinted at the bitter stinging and burning searing my chest.
Yet I forced myself to wait a full 4 hours after being discharged before taking my first pain pill. I watched and listened to the clock tick away long minutes before I gobbled my first Percocet. Percocet that I swore I didn't need, who would, no one said the pain would be like this.
4 anxious hours later I took my second Percocet and tried to relax into the drug, let it carry me away from my exhausted body.
I slept, if you can call it that, propped up in my couch nest and woke to less pain and more Percocet.
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