The drain is out and I have my life back and I have my body back.
Amazing!
I went for a walk this morning with Jubilee and I smelled so much of sulfur that the bugs would not stop swarming me. And then I went to Dr. Lickstein’s office, not knowing if he would take it out or not, since I still have a fair amount of drainage, and he just took it out. Yeah!
Even though I still have some pain and swelling, it seems that my body now is back to its own integrity and has moved into the driver’s seat. I’m now in active HEALING! I no longer have to take the antibiotics, and I’m beginning to think that I have a life again.
Happy New Year!
Showing posts with label drains. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drains. Show all posts
Monday, December 31, 2007
Sunday, December 30, 2007
2 weeks post surgery and still in a funk (and a drain!)
In about 2 months time, I went from getting a suspect mammogram to a mastectomy and the beginnings of reconstruction. A part of my body was cut off. One of the drains is still in, 2 weeks after the surgery. I have taken so much antibiotic that I smell like sulfur.
I have worn the same clothes for 2 weeks. A woman from the breast cancer support group thought to give me a “mastectomy camisole”. This is the only piece of clothing that I feel secure in. There is a pocket for the drain. It is soft and gently hugs my skin. I wash it about every other day, and then put it right back on. It is like a comfort blanket.
I take a shower every day, but I don’t enjoy it. My drain hangs, precipitously, at my side. If it dangles, the irritation and soreness gets worse. Once the tubing got hung on the doorknob – real pain. And I have to sort of look at the still mangled looking area where my right breast used to be.
I hope the drain will be removed tomorrow. They tell me I have to have 2 days of under 30 cc’s of drainage. Yesterday there was 28 cc’s. But it looks like I’m draining more today – this morning there was 18 already. I’m trying to stay still, do nothing, anything to stop the drainage and get the damn thing out.
I am uncomfortable with the “aggressiveness” with which my cancer has been treated. My cancer sites were small and early stage. But because there were 2 separate sites, mastectomy seemed to be the only option they would give me. My pathology report, as far as I understand now, looks good. The margins were clean. The invasive cancer was only 9 mm at its widest – 1 mm short of warranting the chemotherapy where you lose your hair. I have yet to meet with the oncologist. I’m in no hurry. I expect that she will want to put me on the estrogen-blocking drug, and I’m not keen on the idea. My cancer cells were only 10% responsive to estrogen, which they say is low. I've heard that the estrogen-blocking drug causes weight gain, sleeplessness, and aching bones. Just what I need.
Basically, I want my life back, and I want to have more say in what happens to me. I want the drain out!
At this point, I’m not even sure I want reconstruction – a silicon breast and more surgery. Yet the expander was put in. I didn’t have enough time to consider all of this.
I wish that more women defiantly wore their breast cancer instead of opting for fake “boobs”. I wish that I felt more comfortable walking around with just 1 breast, and not feeling like I have to “cover it up”. I actually like the feel of the no-breast side of me now. There is no need for a bra, it feels a little free-ing.
I have worn the same clothes for 2 weeks. A woman from the breast cancer support group thought to give me a “mastectomy camisole”. This is the only piece of clothing that I feel secure in. There is a pocket for the drain. It is soft and gently hugs my skin. I wash it about every other day, and then put it right back on. It is like a comfort blanket.
I take a shower every day, but I don’t enjoy it. My drain hangs, precipitously, at my side. If it dangles, the irritation and soreness gets worse. Once the tubing got hung on the doorknob – real pain. And I have to sort of look at the still mangled looking area where my right breast used to be.
I hope the drain will be removed tomorrow. They tell me I have to have 2 days of under 30 cc’s of drainage. Yesterday there was 28 cc’s. But it looks like I’m draining more today – this morning there was 18 already. I’m trying to stay still, do nothing, anything to stop the drainage and get the damn thing out.
I am uncomfortable with the “aggressiveness” with which my cancer has been treated. My cancer sites were small and early stage. But because there were 2 separate sites, mastectomy seemed to be the only option they would give me. My pathology report, as far as I understand now, looks good. The margins were clean. The invasive cancer was only 9 mm at its widest – 1 mm short of warranting the chemotherapy where you lose your hair. I have yet to meet with the oncologist. I’m in no hurry. I expect that she will want to put me on the estrogen-blocking drug, and I’m not keen on the idea. My cancer cells were only 10% responsive to estrogen, which they say is low. I've heard that the estrogen-blocking drug causes weight gain, sleeplessness, and aching bones. Just what I need.
Basically, I want my life back, and I want to have more say in what happens to me. I want the drain out!
At this point, I’m not even sure I want reconstruction – a silicon breast and more surgery. Yet the expander was put in. I didn’t have enough time to consider all of this.
I wish that more women defiantly wore their breast cancer instead of opting for fake “boobs”. I wish that I felt more comfortable walking around with just 1 breast, and not feeling like I have to “cover it up”. I actually like the feel of the no-breast side of me now. There is no need for a bra, it feels a little free-ing.
Friday, December 28, 2007
patience
I am learning to be patient – to be a patient.
It means, first of all, being quiet and waiting. Finding a new way to experience time: not as an empty transport from what-was-before to what-I-want-to-be, but as a resting place for where I am now. A here place.
Things are not perfect (or what I call hassle-free) here. My drain is still in, and still draining and still hurting. The water balance of my body is “off”, and my ears are quite screw-y.
Despite the discomfort, I have a feeling that this is an important place to be now.
It was Debbie (Taylor’s Mom) who mentioned to me that “patience” was a good thing to know when you are sick. I have learned so much from her. Especially about life not always being what you want or expect it to be.
It means, first of all, being quiet and waiting. Finding a new way to experience time: not as an empty transport from what-was-before to what-I-want-to-be, but as a resting place for where I am now. A here place.
Things are not perfect (or what I call hassle-free) here. My drain is still in, and still draining and still hurting. The water balance of my body is “off”, and my ears are quite screw-y.
Despite the discomfort, I have a feeling that this is an important place to be now.
It was Debbie (Taylor’s Mom) who mentioned to me that “patience” was a good thing to know when you are sick. I have learned so much from her. Especially about life not always being what you want or expect it to be.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
wild boars, pain, wierdness and prayer
It has been 9 or 10 days since my surgery and I feel lost. There is still pain from the damn drain, that just keeps draining. They tell me that I have to have drain less than 30 cc’s a day to get it out, and mine is like an open faucet. I was given another round of antibiotics today, and those seem to make me tired. My ears are screw-y too.
And, like a toothache, I focus on the pain and discomfort, and can’t seem to get very far beyond it. I feel like I can’t get anywhere else until the drain comes out. I’m hoping by Friday, but I bet it’s going to be Monday.
My dreams last night were permeated by running away from wild boars with these two hooked horns coming up from their noses. They were ravaging my right side. (I was laying on the drain side, but it hurts even when I’m not laying on it.)
The one thing that seems to help some is my simple yoga stretches. Moving through and with the pain.
My life is on hold. I don’t accomplish much. Even though I’m out of sorts, I have a feeling something is changing in me. I want to write more, focus, get organized but I am really out of control and just hanging on. I am not serene or calm.
Some fundamental perceptions seem to be changing. Like about prayer. Like about helplessness. Maybe only in helplessness does prayer make any sense. Some women in NY State sent me a prayer shawl that they had knitted. I don’t know these women and they don’t know me, but they heard about my breast cancer and they “prayed” for me as they knitted the shawl. My gosh. I can’t explain how much this touches me, and I am embarrassed at how arrogantly I’ve pooh-poohed prayer in the past.
My body looks weird, very weird. I think it looks like those wild boars have had their way with me. There is the mastectomy scar, and then there is the swelling under and around it, puffs of ballooning skin, like my body is trying to fill up what was taken away. It all red and black. I want to get on with the healing, but I feel like I can’t get anywhere as long as the drains are in, continually irritating everything.
I don’t mind looking weird anymore, I just don’t want to hurt.
And, like a toothache, I focus on the pain and discomfort, and can’t seem to get very far beyond it. I feel like I can’t get anywhere else until the drain comes out. I’m hoping by Friday, but I bet it’s going to be Monday.
My dreams last night were permeated by running away from wild boars with these two hooked horns coming up from their noses. They were ravaging my right side. (I was laying on the drain side, but it hurts even when I’m not laying on it.)
The one thing that seems to help some is my simple yoga stretches. Moving through and with the pain.
My life is on hold. I don’t accomplish much. Even though I’m out of sorts, I have a feeling something is changing in me. I want to write more, focus, get organized but I am really out of control and just hanging on. I am not serene or calm.
Some fundamental perceptions seem to be changing. Like about prayer. Like about helplessness. Maybe only in helplessness does prayer make any sense. Some women in NY State sent me a prayer shawl that they had knitted. I don’t know these women and they don’t know me, but they heard about my breast cancer and they “prayed” for me as they knitted the shawl. My gosh. I can’t explain how much this touches me, and I am embarrassed at how arrogantly I’ve pooh-poohed prayer in the past.
My body looks weird, very weird. I think it looks like those wild boars have had their way with me. There is the mastectomy scar, and then there is the swelling under and around it, puffs of ballooning skin, like my body is trying to fill up what was taken away. It all red and black. I want to get on with the healing, but I feel like I can’t get anywhere as long as the drains are in, continually irritating everything.
I don’t mind looking weird anymore, I just don’t want to hurt.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Dr. L's new office
Dr. Lickstein is my plastic surgeon. He is the doctor with whom I will be dealing the most from here on out. I will see Dr. Rimmer one more time, and I need to make an appointment with the oncologist, Dr. Bertrand. But I will be seeing Dr. Lickstein every week or so for the next few months as he “reconstructs” me.
“David” is his first name. He looks like a David. At first glance, he seems a bit “nerd-y” to me – scholarly. He looks to be about 45 years old. He also seems dependable, up early taking care of details. He does not seem like the kind of doctor who caters to the rich. But I bet that's what the rich people like about him, his scholarly and medical grounding and his apparent disregard for trendiness. He came to me by way of recommendations from women who had used him.
They have a new office, and boy is it swanky. Actually, I love the décor. Modern, with a lot of glass, but like a forest. The flooring is a mix of pebbles and carpet patterned with a hint of fern. There is a water wall in the lobby, and a large arrangement of green pod-like things. It doesn’t look like a doctor’s office, but more like a high end architect or legal office.
I think it is appropriate that a plastic surgeon’s office be somewhat artsy. When I mentioned to Dr. Lickstein this morning that the office was “swanky”, he seemed a bit embarrassed, saying that he was still finding his way around. This office, though, is more in my neighborhood – I can walk to it if I cut across a construction site. And it is Lickstein’s neighborhood too. In our casual conversation this morning, as he was pulling out a drain, I learned what temple he attends and where he lives – both nearby.
It’s interesting to be going to a “high-end” cosmetic surgeon. It’s obvious that this office is made to appeal to rich women who pay upfront for their services. It doesn’t look so much like a “medical” place. This morning (Christmas Eve) he was only seeing a few patients like me who had a medical urgency (like getting the damn drains out). Still there were a couple of glamour girls in the lobby (how can you call such a sophisticated place a “waiting room”? There is a climate controlled refrigerator with water, china, tea, etc.)
Dr. L’s old office had some modern art on the walls of the waiting room, and when I commented on them to Dr. L he said that they belonged to his partner, Dr. Pinsky. I wonder if Dr. P is the inspiration behind this new décor?
“David” is his first name. He looks like a David. At first glance, he seems a bit “nerd-y” to me – scholarly. He looks to be about 45 years old. He also seems dependable, up early taking care of details. He does not seem like the kind of doctor who caters to the rich. But I bet that's what the rich people like about him, his scholarly and medical grounding and his apparent disregard for trendiness. He came to me by way of recommendations from women who had used him.
They have a new office, and boy is it swanky. Actually, I love the décor. Modern, with a lot of glass, but like a forest. The flooring is a mix of pebbles and carpet patterned with a hint of fern. There is a water wall in the lobby, and a large arrangement of green pod-like things. It doesn’t look like a doctor’s office, but more like a high end architect or legal office.
I think it is appropriate that a plastic surgeon’s office be somewhat artsy. When I mentioned to Dr. Lickstein this morning that the office was “swanky”, he seemed a bit embarrassed, saying that he was still finding his way around. This office, though, is more in my neighborhood – I can walk to it if I cut across a construction site. And it is Lickstein’s neighborhood too. In our casual conversation this morning, as he was pulling out a drain, I learned what temple he attends and where he lives – both nearby.
It’s interesting to be going to a “high-end” cosmetic surgeon. It’s obvious that this office is made to appeal to rich women who pay upfront for their services. It doesn’t look so much like a “medical” place. This morning (Christmas Eve) he was only seeing a few patients like me who had a medical urgency (like getting the damn drains out). Still there were a couple of glamour girls in the lobby (how can you call such a sophisticated place a “waiting room”? There is a climate controlled refrigerator with water, china, tea, etc.)
Dr. L’s old office had some modern art on the walls of the waiting room, and when I commented on them to Dr. L he said that they belonged to his partner, Dr. Pinsky. I wonder if Dr. P is the inspiration behind this new décor?
surgery - a week later
It has been a week since my surgery. I did not write.
There were too many things going on. My sister was here. There was the hospital, and all the medicine, and the nausea. Seeing the wierd thing that happened to my body – I thought I looked like an alien. The god-awful drains. And the pain, like a toothache, that just stays in my right non-breast. Everyone says that it will go away with time. I hope so. What if it doesn’t?
At first it seemed like I was doing well – walking, healing. Now it seems that I should be feeling better than I do. I am still tired. I still hurt. I still have a drain.
I think I need to start writing again, this time without an audience.
There were too many things going on. My sister was here. There was the hospital, and all the medicine, and the nausea. Seeing the wierd thing that happened to my body – I thought I looked like an alien. The god-awful drains. And the pain, like a toothache, that just stays in my right non-breast. Everyone says that it will go away with time. I hope so. What if it doesn’t?
At first it seemed like I was doing well – walking, healing. Now it seems that I should be feeling better than I do. I am still tired. I still hurt. I still have a drain.
I think I need to start writing again, this time without an audience.
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