This will be a short post to record the first visit post op from the mastectomy.
The PA came in and inspected the site. She changed the bandages and looked at the drainage recorded to each JP drain. Number 4 drain has less then 10 cc for the past 24 hours so it was pulled. She snipped the stitch holding it in and gave a little tug and it was out. No pain noted. I have an appointment in a week for her to check the site again. She said I could come in any time during the week and get other drains pulled if they showed 10cc's or less drainage in a 24 hour period.
We talked a bit about the surgery. She said it took the doctor longer then expected because of the size of my breasts. She wanted to know if I could tell a difference now that they were gone. Was my balance off? I must admit, the first time I stood up at the hospital I staggered a few steps. The nurse thought it was because of medications but at the time I thought it was the difference in what was missing!
Eleven pounds of breast tissue was removed. A gallon of milk weights 10 lbs. Imagine a 10 lb bag of potatoes strapped to your chest? Ok, I'm just trying to relate!
I did tell this young flat chested PA that I wasn't interested in a reconstruction. I think being flat is awesome and something I am going to embrace. She said there were young women who were fine with not having reconstruction and that there were 80 yr. old women that wanted reconstruction. "It's a very personal choice." she said. I'll be interested to know if I have a change of heart a few years from now. And this same PA said she had never been interested in having a bigger chest! Bravo!
I think even small busted women's breasts pass a stage where they are no longer perky. Breasts have an expiration date on "firmness, perky and sexy." Age stamps the expiration on both large and small.
I don't want to spend more time then necessary focusing attention on a chest. Had it been a leg or arm, I might feel differently.
My question now is since we here in the USA have such an aversion to nipples, can I go shirtless? The women on the beach wearing nothing more then pasties and a thong are "legal". Will I get arrested in New Orleans for removing my shirt at Mardi Gras?
I'm off here to relax for a while. I'm not allowed to drive so I'm dependent on others still. I'm always impatient on this kind of thing. Chill...breathe....relax.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Day 4 Post Op
How did I sleep you might ask on this 4th day post op?
I woke a few times when I tried to position myself on my side. The drains offer up a protest if you lay on them just right. I wiggle around a little bit until I find a position that takes the weight off my back and hips from lying flat so long in bed. I managed to spend the full night in bed. My usual routine is around 0300 hrs. if I wake, I slip out of bed and into the living room, get beneath a blanket I keep there just for this purpose, flip on the TV and watch until I fall back to sleep. This habit keeps me from disturbing the husband's sleep.
I feel that making it through the entire night without the sofa visit is quite an accomplishment.
The daylight started filtering through the bedroom window which was my cue that it was alright and the right time for me to get out of bed.
Yesterday I switched from Percosets to Tylenol ES. I think the Tylenol is all I need to manage the soreness from the incision sites. Today I visit the surgeon so he can examine his art work on my chest. The drains have slowed in output but I'm sure he won't remove any of them today. I don't let them bother me or restrict my movements. I have them safety pinned to the little corset thing I wear so they don't flop around and I have to be careful not to get the tubing hooked on, say the bed posts, as I pass by. The husband squeals really loud when he sees this happen. OK, so it has happened a couple of times and unfortunately he has witnessed it. I'm sure his imagination sees blood flying every where in the room should they become disconnected. His plan of action is to disappear should that happen so he gets nervous and scolds me for not being more careful. He would rather I sit still in one place and he get up and get what I need.
I try to tell him I need to get up and move around. Blood clots are not a pretty thing and a big hazard to ones' health post operative.
I noticed this morning as I was brewing a pot of coffee, the rugs on the floor need to be shook out and run through the washing machine. I can do a lot of things but bending over when I drop something or picking something up from the floor is impossible. Now when I drop something, I get so frustrated because I have to ask for help. I have been able to sweep and do dishes and help make the bed but a simple thing like dropping a piece of paper or a pill on the floor has me dependant on help.
I got into bed last night and I pulled the comforter down, and then expected to peel the blanket back and then the top sheet. The husband has put the blanket on before the top sheet. I didn't say anything. I just slipped beneath the blanket onto the fitted sheet and pulled the bedding up thinking "I will fix this tomorrow". I'm blessed that he is trying to help. I must appreciate that fact alone. Before he gets to the laundry room, I might have to get a load started and let him take care of switching them over to the dryer.
The old saying "two women can't share a house" probably originated from house hold chores and the differences in how they are done. I have never minded cleaning house and have never really felt as though it was done unless I did it myself. We all have our quirks!
Carrie will be driven to school by her mother this morning. I think they are going to stop by before they go. One of the first things I want to ask my doctor this morning is "when can I drive?" I think the only reason they would restrict me is because of the pain management and since I'm on Tylenol now, it shouldn't be a problem. That's my theory anyway.
Clinically speaking, I have more soreness in the right axillary then in the left. The incision site is deeper on the right side so the pain and soreness correlate. The drainage is down to 30 cc on the right and about 10 cc on the left side.
The pain is at a "2" but only if I strain with that arm. No continuous aching. I am able to lift my arms above chest level with no consequence.
I'm getting dressed and see if I can talk April into letting me
ride to school with her and Carrie this morning. She might even let me stop by a store to pick up some Tylenol!
I woke a few times when I tried to position myself on my side. The drains offer up a protest if you lay on them just right. I wiggle around a little bit until I find a position that takes the weight off my back and hips from lying flat so long in bed. I managed to spend the full night in bed. My usual routine is around 0300 hrs. if I wake, I slip out of bed and into the living room, get beneath a blanket I keep there just for this purpose, flip on the TV and watch until I fall back to sleep. This habit keeps me from disturbing the husband's sleep.
I feel that making it through the entire night without the sofa visit is quite an accomplishment.
The daylight started filtering through the bedroom window which was my cue that it was alright and the right time for me to get out of bed.
Yesterday I switched from Percosets to Tylenol ES. I think the Tylenol is all I need to manage the soreness from the incision sites. Today I visit the surgeon so he can examine his art work on my chest. The drains have slowed in output but I'm sure he won't remove any of them today. I don't let them bother me or restrict my movements. I have them safety pinned to the little corset thing I wear so they don't flop around and I have to be careful not to get the tubing hooked on, say the bed posts, as I pass by. The husband squeals really loud when he sees this happen. OK, so it has happened a couple of times and unfortunately he has witnessed it. I'm sure his imagination sees blood flying every where in the room should they become disconnected. His plan of action is to disappear should that happen so he gets nervous and scolds me for not being more careful. He would rather I sit still in one place and he get up and get what I need.
I try to tell him I need to get up and move around. Blood clots are not a pretty thing and a big hazard to ones' health post operative.
I noticed this morning as I was brewing a pot of coffee, the rugs on the floor need to be shook out and run through the washing machine. I can do a lot of things but bending over when I drop something or picking something up from the floor is impossible. Now when I drop something, I get so frustrated because I have to ask for help. I have been able to sweep and do dishes and help make the bed but a simple thing like dropping a piece of paper or a pill on the floor has me dependant on help.
I got into bed last night and I pulled the comforter down, and then expected to peel the blanket back and then the top sheet. The husband has put the blanket on before the top sheet. I didn't say anything. I just slipped beneath the blanket onto the fitted sheet and pulled the bedding up thinking "I will fix this tomorrow". I'm blessed that he is trying to help. I must appreciate that fact alone. Before he gets to the laundry room, I might have to get a load started and let him take care of switching them over to the dryer.
The old saying "two women can't share a house" probably originated from house hold chores and the differences in how they are done. I have never minded cleaning house and have never really felt as though it was done unless I did it myself. We all have our quirks!
Carrie will be driven to school by her mother this morning. I think they are going to stop by before they go. One of the first things I want to ask my doctor this morning is "when can I drive?" I think the only reason they would restrict me is because of the pain management and since I'm on Tylenol now, it shouldn't be a problem. That's my theory anyway.
Clinically speaking, I have more soreness in the right axillary then in the left. The incision site is deeper on the right side so the pain and soreness correlate. The drainage is down to 30 cc on the right and about 10 cc on the left side.
The pain is at a "2" but only if I strain with that arm. No continuous aching. I am able to lift my arms above chest level with no consequence.
I'm getting dressed and see if I can talk April into letting me
ride to school with her and Carrie this morning. She might even let me stop by a store to pick up some Tylenol!
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Habra Espanyol?
It started as a gentle rain. The trees rustled in the breeze shaking off the fine water droplets much like a dog shaking off the water from it's coat. The windshield wipers on my car were set to intermittent. They swiped across my view every 5 seconds to scoop the droplets and clear my line of vision. Soon I would have to reset them to move the water off faster as the rain increased in it's intensity.
Beneath a tree on the left side of the road, stood a young woman seeking shelter from this storm. The rain was denied finding her beneath this leafy tree while she waited on the school bus that would leave her son which she would escort to their home.
My destination was across the street directly opposite from where this young woman stood. I was going to stop in at Pat's for a short visit. As I turned into Pat's driveway, the storm seemed to lunge forth pelting the streets with a deluge of water. The young woman was no longer being sheltered. The rain was breaking through those leafs and pounding against her. I quickly backed my car down the driveway and motioned for her to come and stand beneath the carport. Smiling though the rain, she darted across the street and beneath the shelter of my friends carport. The rain continued it's onslaught, heavy and relentless, the streets were soon covered. Peering through this downpour, I motioned the young woman out of the way so I could pull my car beneath the carport. She moved to the side, still being protected from the rain while I pulled in beside of her. Motioning her to get in the car, I told her we could wait beside the road for the bus.
It was when she tried communicating with me, that I found she spoke very little English. My new friend was Cuban and my Spanish is nonexistant. In her broken English, she explained she was waiting on her son to arrive via the school bus.
Through the pouring rain, the bus stopped and her son was greeted by his mother who dashed from my car to where he was climbing down into the rain from the bus. She secured him in the back seat of my car and I drove her to her house which is on the same street as I live but further down the road. Abby was able to communicate her name and her thankfulness for my coming to her rescue.
Occasionally as I'm driving through the neighborhood I see Abby walking to and from the bus stop. A few days ago Abby stopped in. I wasn't home but the husband was and they were able to have a conversation in Spanish. He told me about her when I got back home and he said she would stop in again.
Today Abby arrived once again and this time with a friend and a big bowl of food. It is her anniversary and her family was having a BBQ. She wanted to bring me some food. She knew I was having surgery but she thought it was next Thursday. She wanted to apologize for visiting but I made sure she knew I was happy to see her and thanked her effusively for the food she bought.
I only wish I could speak Spanish. As she spoke with the husband, I could understand a few sentences then as the conversation turned, I lost the track and sat quietly until the husband could translate for me.
She told my husband she thought I was a very nice lady. I'm always amazed that people can come from another country not knowing this language and find their way to supporting themselves and coping with all the strangeness they must encounter here. Would I have the guts to do the same? Would I travel to another country to live not knowing anyone but my husband and child? I try to imagine how I would feel and from that I treat them accordingly. She has an eight year old son, exactly Carrie's age. I think I might have found someone for Carrie to spend some time with when she is here with me. I'll get with Abby and arrange some play time for them.
i can remember when my mother in law and I would walk around her apartment complex in Arizona. As we walked she would point at things and tell me in Spanish the names while I would reply in English. Her English was much better then my Spanish. Her grandchildren were amazed to hear her speak English. She was never comfortable talking to her family in English but with me she didn't have a choice. I knew no Spanish so she was forced into speaking to me in English.
To this day, I wish I were bilingual. I would have liked to speak either Spanish or Italian. While in Italy, the husband could communicate quite easily with the Italians by using his Spanish. He was able to understand Italian as they are both Latin based languages. My Italian mother could converse with the Spanish people in the same way. I am always impressed by anyone that is bilingual. Impressed and envious of their ability.
It's time for another Percocet. I'll be unavailable for coherent typing for about 3 hrs.
I'm done here for now!
Beneath a tree on the left side of the road, stood a young woman seeking shelter from this storm. The rain was denied finding her beneath this leafy tree while she waited on the school bus that would leave her son which she would escort to their home.
My destination was across the street directly opposite from where this young woman stood. I was going to stop in at Pat's for a short visit. As I turned into Pat's driveway, the storm seemed to lunge forth pelting the streets with a deluge of water. The young woman was no longer being sheltered. The rain was breaking through those leafs and pounding against her. I quickly backed my car down the driveway and motioned for her to come and stand beneath the carport. Smiling though the rain, she darted across the street and beneath the shelter of my friends carport. The rain continued it's onslaught, heavy and relentless, the streets were soon covered. Peering through this downpour, I motioned the young woman out of the way so I could pull my car beneath the carport. She moved to the side, still being protected from the rain while I pulled in beside of her. Motioning her to get in the car, I told her we could wait beside the road for the bus.
It was when she tried communicating with me, that I found she spoke very little English. My new friend was Cuban and my Spanish is nonexistant. In her broken English, she explained she was waiting on her son to arrive via the school bus.
Through the pouring rain, the bus stopped and her son was greeted by his mother who dashed from my car to where he was climbing down into the rain from the bus. She secured him in the back seat of my car and I drove her to her house which is on the same street as I live but further down the road. Abby was able to communicate her name and her thankfulness for my coming to her rescue.
Occasionally as I'm driving through the neighborhood I see Abby walking to and from the bus stop. A few days ago Abby stopped in. I wasn't home but the husband was and they were able to have a conversation in Spanish. He told me about her when I got back home and he said she would stop in again.
Today Abby arrived once again and this time with a friend and a big bowl of food. It is her anniversary and her family was having a BBQ. She wanted to bring me some food. She knew I was having surgery but she thought it was next Thursday. She wanted to apologize for visiting but I made sure she knew I was happy to see her and thanked her effusively for the food she bought.
I only wish I could speak Spanish. As she spoke with the husband, I could understand a few sentences then as the conversation turned, I lost the track and sat quietly until the husband could translate for me.
She told my husband she thought I was a very nice lady. I'm always amazed that people can come from another country not knowing this language and find their way to supporting themselves and coping with all the strangeness they must encounter here. Would I have the guts to do the same? Would I travel to another country to live not knowing anyone but my husband and child? I try to imagine how I would feel and from that I treat them accordingly. She has an eight year old son, exactly Carrie's age. I think I might have found someone for Carrie to spend some time with when she is here with me. I'll get with Abby and arrange some play time for them.
i can remember when my mother in law and I would walk around her apartment complex in Arizona. As we walked she would point at things and tell me in Spanish the names while I would reply in English. Her English was much better then my Spanish. Her grandchildren were amazed to hear her speak English. She was never comfortable talking to her family in English but with me she didn't have a choice. I knew no Spanish so she was forced into speaking to me in English.
To this day, I wish I were bilingual. I would have liked to speak either Spanish or Italian. While in Italy, the husband could communicate quite easily with the Italians by using his Spanish. He was able to understand Italian as they are both Latin based languages. My Italian mother could converse with the Spanish people in the same way. I am always impressed by anyone that is bilingual. Impressed and envious of their ability.
It's time for another Percocet. I'll be unavailable for coherent typing for about 3 hrs.
I'm done here for now!
Two Days Post Op
I love watching sports. The best part, at my age, is how impressed I am about the physical condition of these people. Football Saturday and Sunday, I watch those players get hit full force on. I watch them hit the ground in all manners of bone cracking, muscle tearing contact. They go from "full out flat on the ground" to "standing erect" so quickly that you have to pay close attention to how they do that. I find myself watching this display of strength. Do you notice this too or am I alone in this?
I think this watching of those players recovery from those hits and pop back up on their feet without a struggle relate back to the time I could sit "Indian fashion", my legs crossed each other at the knees and from this position I could scissor myself into a standing position without ever having to uncross my legs. My legs were at the high point of their "being in shape". I snow skied every day and keeping my legs in top shape was a priority for me. I could ski all day long and my legs never tired. I worked on keeping them in shape. In the summer, I laced up a pair of ice skating boots and did laps on ice at the arena which kept my legs strong for the upcoming winter ski season. I cannot scissor myself into a standing position now and have NOT been able to do that for many years, hence my obsession with watching those football players pop up from their ground position to their feet in seconds.
This is my second day post op. My instructions are to "fold my arms across my chest, the right hand touching the left shoulder and the left hand touching the right shoulder. This keeps me from using my hands and arms to propel myself upward from a sitting position from the sofa or from a lying position when getting out of bed. If you forget and use your arms, you will be in much pain; something I've already had Lesson 1 on. I should have worked on leg strength before this surgery. Biking or walking would have helped had I thought about it.
I am careful where I sit. Pillows piled behind my back push me forward on the sofa to the edge. When I get ready to stand, I fold my arms, wiggle forward a bit, plant my feet on the floor and rock forward a few times until I rise to a standing position. My husband offers to help but I decline to accept. I need to do this alone. I need to figure out what will work in the event I'm alone here. I hate being "needy". I've never been a "needy" person. I know I have limitations right now and I know it will get easier as time goes on and I also know my limits and I'm willing to accept those for now.
I swallowed my Lortab as soon as I got to the kitchen. My new rule will be to take the damn thing BEFORE I attempt to get out of bed. Going from a lying position to standing shifts the skin on my chest and the incision sites suddenly get pressure on them and it's most uncomfortable, bordering slightly on pain.
I checked the drains this morning. The two in the right chest wall are about 10 to 15 cc's while the two on the right have about 50 cc's. The higher drainage on the right is expected as that area was where the lymph nodes were removed so the surgical site is "deeper" there thus more drainage.
If this is more information then you need, just remember, I write these blogs not only for myself but for others on this path. Just as with the blogs on my knee reconstruction, I like to write about the experiences that might help others that Google for info on this. The emotional and the physical impact on ones life is immense. The things I have read on online forums and talking to friends that have had friends go through this, talking to women that have went through this was what was a big help to me. I don't know if I could have done this electively.
An unexpected part of this is being a bit excited about the wardrobe change I will experience. I look in the mirror and see the button up shirt I'm wearing and the button holes are not gaping open from the strain of my breasts against them. This doesn't make me sad. I WANT to NOT want the reconstruction. I WANT to WANT to be satisfied with this look. If I were in my thirties, I would probably know at this time that a reconstruction would be mandatory. At my age, do I really care? Only time will tell. Many women that thought they wanted one, ended up NOT and others that stayed flat chested for two years eventually ended up having the reconstruction while still others opted out. I want to be in the "opted out" group. Only time will tell.
Do I feel lighter? I've been asked that question. Can I tell they are gone? I've been asked that question too. My answer to this is "the support thing they put me in post op is the same support I had with the bras I wore pre surgery. My breast never felt "heavy" while wearing my bra because I made sure I wore GOOD supportive bras." That's my answer right now. The difference now I notice is...I can see my stomach and feet. I notice the shirt I'm wearing is huge now on me. I don't need to buy a huge shirt to encompass my chest which then held it away from my waist and hips which didn't need all that roominess.
It's almost 0800 now and my daughter should be here soon to strip or 'milk" the tubing on the drains and empty and record the amount. Her doing this is always good for a few laughs. She borders on hysteria while doing it. The nervous laughter is loud and soon tears are rolling down her face. She will never be in the medical field. Her facial expressions when she is performing this task ranges from fright to disgust. Her exclamations are something you would never hear from a professional health care worker doing a task on a patient. I can fully understand, from my position now, what her patient would be thinking. She tries and that's the important part; her wanting to help me. I appreciate her for putting herself through this for me and my knowing it's not easy for her.
I watch closely as she goes about her chore and I'm as relieved as she is when the last drain is cleaned.
I'm off to the kitchen to get a fresh cup of brew...a brew I did myself this morning. All is well here and for that I'm grateful!
The little Lortab is kickin in..and I'm outta here!
I think this watching of those players recovery from those hits and pop back up on their feet without a struggle relate back to the time I could sit "Indian fashion", my legs crossed each other at the knees and from this position I could scissor myself into a standing position without ever having to uncross my legs. My legs were at the high point of their "being in shape". I snow skied every day and keeping my legs in top shape was a priority for me. I could ski all day long and my legs never tired. I worked on keeping them in shape. In the summer, I laced up a pair of ice skating boots and did laps on ice at the arena which kept my legs strong for the upcoming winter ski season. I cannot scissor myself into a standing position now and have NOT been able to do that for many years, hence my obsession with watching those football players pop up from their ground position to their feet in seconds.
This is my second day post op. My instructions are to "fold my arms across my chest, the right hand touching the left shoulder and the left hand touching the right shoulder. This keeps me from using my hands and arms to propel myself upward from a sitting position from the sofa or from a lying position when getting out of bed. If you forget and use your arms, you will be in much pain; something I've already had Lesson 1 on. I should have worked on leg strength before this surgery. Biking or walking would have helped had I thought about it.
I am careful where I sit. Pillows piled behind my back push me forward on the sofa to the edge. When I get ready to stand, I fold my arms, wiggle forward a bit, plant my feet on the floor and rock forward a few times until I rise to a standing position. My husband offers to help but I decline to accept. I need to do this alone. I need to figure out what will work in the event I'm alone here. I hate being "needy". I've never been a "needy" person. I know I have limitations right now and I know it will get easier as time goes on and I also know my limits and I'm willing to accept those for now.
I swallowed my Lortab as soon as I got to the kitchen. My new rule will be to take the damn thing BEFORE I attempt to get out of bed. Going from a lying position to standing shifts the skin on my chest and the incision sites suddenly get pressure on them and it's most uncomfortable, bordering slightly on pain.
I checked the drains this morning. The two in the right chest wall are about 10 to 15 cc's while the two on the right have about 50 cc's. The higher drainage on the right is expected as that area was where the lymph nodes were removed so the surgical site is "deeper" there thus more drainage.
If this is more information then you need, just remember, I write these blogs not only for myself but for others on this path. Just as with the blogs on my knee reconstruction, I like to write about the experiences that might help others that Google for info on this. The emotional and the physical impact on ones life is immense. The things I have read on online forums and talking to friends that have had friends go through this, talking to women that have went through this was what was a big help to me. I don't know if I could have done this electively.
An unexpected part of this is being a bit excited about the wardrobe change I will experience. I look in the mirror and see the button up shirt I'm wearing and the button holes are not gaping open from the strain of my breasts against them. This doesn't make me sad. I WANT to NOT want the reconstruction. I WANT to WANT to be satisfied with this look. If I were in my thirties, I would probably know at this time that a reconstruction would be mandatory. At my age, do I really care? Only time will tell. Many women that thought they wanted one, ended up NOT and others that stayed flat chested for two years eventually ended up having the reconstruction while still others opted out. I want to be in the "opted out" group. Only time will tell.
Do I feel lighter? I've been asked that question. Can I tell they are gone? I've been asked that question too. My answer to this is "the support thing they put me in post op is the same support I had with the bras I wore pre surgery. My breast never felt "heavy" while wearing my bra because I made sure I wore GOOD supportive bras." That's my answer right now. The difference now I notice is...I can see my stomach and feet. I notice the shirt I'm wearing is huge now on me. I don't need to buy a huge shirt to encompass my chest which then held it away from my waist and hips which didn't need all that roominess.
It's almost 0800 now and my daughter should be here soon to strip or 'milk" the tubing on the drains and empty and record the amount. Her doing this is always good for a few laughs. She borders on hysteria while doing it. The nervous laughter is loud and soon tears are rolling down her face. She will never be in the medical field. Her facial expressions when she is performing this task ranges from fright to disgust. Her exclamations are something you would never hear from a professional health care worker doing a task on a patient. I can fully understand, from my position now, what her patient would be thinking. She tries and that's the important part; her wanting to help me. I appreciate her for putting herself through this for me and my knowing it's not easy for her.
I watch closely as she goes about her chore and I'm as relieved as she is when the last drain is cleaned.
I'm off to the kitchen to get a fresh cup of brew...a brew I did myself this morning. All is well here and for that I'm grateful!
The little Lortab is kickin in..and I'm outta here!
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