I bet the photograph of me with the tubes coming out of my body is forever etched in your memory. Sorry about that. I had hoped to get the drains out on Friday, but I had to go into the doctor three more times before they were removed a full week later. It was hard for me to slow down. Imagine!
Talk about shivering before an appointment. I was so afraid yanking the tubes out would hurt like hell since they were so sensitive early in my recovery. They slipped right out and I didn’t feel a thing!
Looking forward to a shower took on a whole new meaning. With no belt, tubes or hand grenade containers to mess with, I was finally free and ready to jump in to really suds up. Then I realized another problem had arisen.
Girl Scout First Aid Kit from 1942 – I don’t think Danny broke into this antique.
We had run out of bandages and my husband Danny had placed four old and deteriorating ones over my entry tube holes the night before. They left nasty glue everywhere. Gahhhhhh! I had looked forward to the relief of being drain-free, but now my arms stuck to my sides under my armpits. When I say stuck, I mean my skin stuck together like fly paper!
I took a shower, but nothing would remove the sticky glue.
ME: Oh, my God! I can’t believe it! How am I going to get rid of this stupid glue? I waited all this time for some relief and now I have to deal with this shit!
DANNY: What about turpentine?
ME: Are you kidding me? The holes in my body from the tubes are right in the middle of the sticky mess. I can’t put turpentine on my wounds!
Tears welled up in my eyes.
DANNY: What about fingernail polish remover?
ME: God, Danny. Are you serious?
Or did he???
It was quiet for a while as I moved my arm up and down and watched the skin stick together and then pull apart.
DANNY: What about a Stayfree Mini Pad?
ME: A Stayfree Mini Pad?
After I stopped laughing, I thought about it.
ME: I guess it’s worth a try.
I grabbed a pad from under the sink and folded it in half. Then I stuck it under my armpit.
DANNY: Well? Is it working?
I put my arm down at my side and lifted it up. The skin didn’t adhere!
ME: It worked! A Stayfree Mini Pad? How did you think of that brand?”
DANNY: Their advertising must be working.
Who knew I would be freed by a mini pad?
I HAVE NEW BOOBS.
They’re nipple-less and bionic. I love them! I can throw on a tank top and run (Okay, so I can’t run yet), outside without a bra and I won’t nip out.
There have been four fills so far. I told my reconstructive doctor, “You should post a sign in the waiting room that says, We will pump you up!”
I would name my new boobs, Hans and Franz, but come on, they’re girls.
The Fill = Youch!
First the nurse uses a magnet to find the half-dollar size fill area under the skin of my breast and pectoral muscles. I wonder if they will set off alarms while going through airport security… Then she inserts a needle and “pumps me up,” with saline. 50 cc’s hurts like hell, but no pain, no gain. My boobs are stretching out to their original size and my dinky right boob is no longer dinky!
They are not like the soft silicone implants which will replace the expanders in September. These freaks are like headlights, halogen high beams, or Barbie boobs. They stick straight out and are as hard as rock. I smacked one while pulling the clean clothes out of the washer today. Ho! It smarted!
“My new girls could take a bullet for me,” I said to my mom.
My poor mother has never gotten used to my crazy sense of humor.
I wondered if Danny could use my new boobs as a flotation device in the untimely event that our plane plunges into the Atlantic while traveling to Europe.
“I could save two people,” I told the nurse while she filled them up.
“They would be easy to grip,” Danny added.
“No. They are filled with saline so you won’t float,” said the straight-faced nurse.
NOTE TO SELF:
If I am ever high on the general anesthetic and Oxycontin again, try to remember the drug will obliterate my filters for a whole month. I over-shared my boobectomy with the landscape guys who stopped by to give me an estimate. I told them since I no longer have nipples, I can run around bra-less. “How cool is that?” I asked.
Then I proceeded to tell them my WHOLE double mastectomy story, for FIFTEEN MINUTES.
Next time, pay attention to the color of people’s faces, if their jaws drop and if they start to back away towards their vehicle.
Hey! At least I didn’t flash them…
Can you think out of the box?
Other Boob Reports –