One Week Later

It's been one week since my bilateral mastectomy.  It seems absolutely unbelievable that a week has passed.  By all accounts, I am an excellent patient.  I am the rock star of patients.  I am amazing.

I don't feel amazing.

While I was in the hospital, no less than 25 medical professionals told me I looked amazing. In the recovery room, where you literally come back to consciousness after having 5 hour surgery and the like, my nurse was calling other nurses over to point out how amazing I looked.  This sounds so bizarre as I type it up, but I swear it's true.  Staff would come in, for one reason or another, and do a double take when they saw me.  On Friday, my surgeon told me that people were stopping her and asking if I had really been in surgery the day before.  Even today, my visiting nurse told me I looked amazing and clearly didn't need more nursing care.

I don't have a definite reason for this miracle patient status, except that it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.  Please don't get me wrong.  This sucks.  I mean, it sucks.  I hate it.  I hate that I had to go through it, I hate that I am in recovery, I hate how it has disrupted my life, my husband's life, and my daughter's life.  But I thought it would be way, way worse. 

My first thought when I woke up in recovery was that it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I wanted water, my glasses, and lip balm, pretty much in that order.  I was hooked up to a little pain on command button, and given lots of ice chips.  I hung out there with my nice nurse and her coworkers, and eventually a nice man took me to a private room where I met up with Nick.

I was in the hospital for one night, and then I went home.  I learned that I truly do not have a good relationship with narcotics.  First, I did not hit my little pain button a lot, so I stayed under medicated, and in more pain, than I needed to be. By the next morning, they had taken me off the IV and given me oral pain pills.  That's when I had my first allergic reaction to the happy pain pills.  So, no magical trippy dreams for me - just plain old extra strength Tylenol.  

I sleep a lot, now that I am home.  I eat meals. I take naps.  I am kind of like a cat.  I find it hard to concentrate on conversations that last too long, probably because of the general tiredness and muscle relaxers. None of that is bad, per se.  I very gratefully eat the food our friends drop off, but I sometimes can't remember who dropped off what.  All my energy is focused on healing, and resting, and trying to get better so I can have my life back.

Tomorrow I should get my four surgical drains out.  Monday I find out if I need chemo.  If you can, I would love your prayers for my recovery and prayers for good news on the chemo (I really would love to bypass that experience).  I will update when I can - I can't wait to be my snarky self again.