Thirteen Days

It’s now been 13 days since the mutilation of my right chest. I say “chest” because it wasn’t just the breast, it was skin from margins that extended well around my side and underarm areas. I have no courage yet to see it. I don’t know when I will. But my beautiful, amazing, courageous daughter sees it every day. She uncovers it, exposes it in all its glory and changes the special dressings, thin gauze-like Vaseline-laden sheets. Then she loosely covers the whole area with soft white pads and tapes them in place. The plastic surgeon’s office provided two front Velcro-closure bras that she carefully closes and then we are good for another 24 hours.

Pain management has been challenging, mainly because opioids make me nauseous and I throw up. So I’ve been avoiding the oxycodone. Much to my surprise, the actual surgical site has not been as painful as the graft donor site on my leg. I’ve been waiting for that area to become painful and it happened yesterday. It seemed prudent to try to cut back on the amount of Tylenol and ibuprofen I’ve been taking every six hours for 13 days. So I cut the ibuprofen in half for my noon-time dose yesterday. 

A couple of hours later, the ache under my arm became concerning. It occurred to me that the pain could conceivably get worse over time, will ibuprofen and Tylenol really be enough. There’s a reason they prescribed oxycodone and zofran. It seemed prudent to give it another try. I ate a few Wheat Thins, had a glass of cold ginger ale at hand, swallowed the oxycodone and put the zofran under my tongue to dissolve. Except for feeling a little high for an hour or so, I didn’t get nauseous. Thank you God! Now I know.

Sleeping, inclined on my back, has not been easy. I’m a side sleeper. Impossible right now. Ativan is great for sleep! My PCP ordered 15 pills when I requested some to have for MRIs and anxious times pre-surgery. They are like gold. I use them very sparingly. I wish I had more.

There has been progress. I see it. The last few mornings I have made my own coffee. Poured my own bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats. The more I can do for myself, the less Caroline has to be “on call.” The easier I can make life for her through all of this, the better I feel. She is doing it all - cooking, cleaning, working, shuttling kids to various activities, and taking care of me. Talk about being in a “sandwich generation.” That’s her reality right now. It is temporary. I will heal. I will get my strength back. I will be able to cook again. Clean up the kitchen again. Get my own lunch. Some of these things sooner than others, but the days will go by. We will get back to normal.

In the meantime, I will be gentle with myself, allow my occasional pity parties, let the tears flow. My goodness, who wouldn’t find themselves over-wrought that this is what their life has come to?