Small victories make big differences these days.
I have been getting stronger and stronger each day. Getting out of bed in the morning is tricky and painful, having been stationary for several hours, but once I am up, and I getting around pretty well. I'm trying not to favor my right side, but also not push my left side more than it is ready for. I am remembering the occupational therapist's words that therapeutic pain is 2-3 on a scale of 10, so I'm pushing that far and letting others pick up the slack. I'm letting my assortment of nurses take care of me: mom and dad cleaned my entire apartment yesterday and have made sure I have everything in reach when I need it, from water to crackers to my puke bucket; Michael is an expert drain emptier, "cocktail" mixer (making the various drinks I have to consume more tolerable), and get-up-and-go-er whenever I say the word; and Klaus has helped me nap soundly, and even licked my armpit clean before I was able to shower (gross, dog). Klaus has also helped other members of the family nap:
So I decided: today was the day for a shower. That would perk me up. When it came time, I carefully peeled off the clothes I have been wearing for three days, carefully setting the drains that hang precariously out of my side on the bed so they wouldn't pull. Someone had suggested that a pair of capri stockings around my neck are a perfect length and light-weight way to pin my drains up and keep them from pulling in the shower. (Normally they are either pinned to clothes or in these little pockets I have velcroed to my camisole.) So I slung some black footless stockings around my neck, and pinned the two drains to both legs, making a sort of necklace. I carefully stepped into the steaming shower, and just relished in the water running through my hair and down my back. Immediately, I felt like a person again. I didn't feel the same aches. Even with my ridiculous drain-and-stocking necklace, I felt normal! Then I gathered myself enough to look down. I remembered the morning of my mastectomy, how I'd taken in one last time my fully intact body. It was a much different scene this time, but it felt strangely okay. Something about the shower felt almost magical, like it washed away insecurities and pain. I started to see how this new body could someday look beautiful, once the drains were gone, the swelling and bruises gone, and the incision healed. I imagined my sunflower tattoo there, and smiled. I could still see a little bit of my war paint, and that made me happy, too. Still a warrior. I couldn't feel anything on the surgery site, but I could feel the warm water everywhere else, so that made up for it. Overall, I was amazed how little I felt like a freak. I thought that would be much harder, but I was mostly very happy.
Until I turned off the water. Almost immediately after, everything about reality came back. It was difficult to wrap my towel around me because of the arm contortions that are involved. When I did, I couldn't feel the towel's softness on my skin. Even as I could feel my brow begin to furrow over this, I caught a glimpse in the mirror. With the towel around me and the black stockings around my neck, it looked almost like I was wearing one my favorite dresses - a cute, black, halter top dress. It's a dress I might not be able to wear anymore, but in that moment in the mirror, it looked like I was wearing it again. I tried to stay happy about my shower experience.
But it didn't last. I slowly, carefully, got dressed as much as I could. But that involved standing in front of the mirror, and this was the first time I saw the whole package from the front instead of top down. This was that emotional experience I had expected in the hospital when I accidentally saw my new boob before I realized what had happened. And now it was happening while my parents were out and Michael was asleep. I looked like a science experiment. A huge red gash across my chest. Two egg-shaped drains with bodily fluids in them, hanging out of my side by long, skinny tubes. Dr. Skinner's blue initials still clear on my skin. I can see under the skin where the drains are, and it looks like worms or something, deforming the otherwise smooth skin. And I can't feel any of it. I could feel the tears burning in my eyes.
"Help." I needed someone. "Michael, help me." He awoke and jumped up and came over to help me get the drains where they needed to be, and get my post-mastectomy camisole over the surgery site. It didn't take long for him to see the tears in my eyes. "Oh baby...."
"I look awful!" I said.
"You look beautiful."
"I look like a science experiment."
"You look cancer-free."
"It's terrible."
"You look beautiful to me. Nothing will change that."
I cried for a while into his chest while he held me and told me how beautiful I am, even though I couldn't believe it at that moment. Then I decided I would make myself believe it. I put on a pair of yoga pants - at least my butt could look good! I asked Michael to help me blow-dry my hair, which he did with some uncertainty at first but then really got into it. I put in some product to make my bangs fall nicely. I put on some red lipstick. I put on some eyeshadow, mascara, and blush. Then some dangly gold earrings, and a pretty cross necklace. Not a bad result. Amazing what some tight pants and lipstick can do for a girl's spirits.
(Side note: I often listen to my Boobie Playlist while I write these blogs, and more often than not, the song I'm listening to has everything to do with the topic. For this one, what should come up but Carole King's: "You've got to get up every morning with a smile on your face and show the world all the love in your heart. People gonna treat you better, and you'll find, yes you will, that you're beautiful as you feel." Followed by Flaming Lips: "Do you realize that you have the most beautiful face?" Thanks Boobie Playlist. You've come through for me again.)
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