Slept ok, surprisingly. Woke up to pee, take meds, empty the drain, and while I can't say I've "never felt better", I was surprised at how little I cried when I had to move. There was one precarious moment when hubby went to get my meds and I tried for about 20 minutes to maneuver myself out of bed. That sucked. I felt like a helpless infant. And I thought back to my own mom, how she really didn't have anyone to help her. Yes, she had a husband, but I'm not going to go into the dynamics of their relationship. Only that I'm so sorry that she didn't have what she deserved.
After some Ezekiel toast with almond butter and jam, half a cup of coffee, a few gallons of water to keep flushing the bullshit out of me, and some kombucha, I looked at my arm and the disgusting tape residue that seemed to cover more area than actual skin, I decided it was time for a luxurious bath. Hubby scrubbed me, and thank goodness for Japanese scrubbing cloths . I grew up with these, amazing for your skin, and we tried a few swipes of rubbing alcohol to get the residue off but the fumes made me feel quite vomitous. So, in actuality, the scrubbing cloth and some beautiful organic bar soap did the trick well. I cried thinking of my mom again, how the hell did she bathe? I was too young, but as a teen I did give her sponge baths in the hospital. I wish I could have done more for her, but at least I know she loves that I have someone to do these things for me. Us moms care more about our children than ourselves, and I always want my little girl to have it better than I did, in every way.
Got dressed in my sassy zebra striped nightie. Originally I picked a button down shirt and shorts, but realized how much easier it was in the hospital to go to the restroom and how annoyed I was all night, having to fuss with my shorts and undies. Duh. The zebra nightie looks a hairball less fetching with the surgical bra and lump of drainage bulb underneath, but I've got my makeup on and am pretty sure that I'm looking better than yesterday in the god awful hospital gown. They should offer a premium package - I'd pay more to have something a bit more feminine on while recovering. I did consider bringing my own, but gave up on the idea when I realized that, well, I just wanted to be alive. Now? I'm glad to have options that say, "Hey! I only have one breast, but gaaaaaad damnit, I'm dressing it up like nobody's business. Ps. Fuck you, cancer"
So far it's going pretty good.
We've taken pictures along the way. Hubby even got a shot of me getting that awful radioactive shot right through my breast. The one that almost made me smack homeboy across the room. The one that made us both cry. And now, looking at it, I can not only remember the pain, but remember that I survived it. I spoke with quite a few medical folks there. There HAS to be a better way. That shit was unnecessarily painful. I mean, really. Feel a little pinch, my ass. That was torture. That was like a biopsy without the numbing stuff. Fuck them.
So now I'm clean, except my left armpit. But I'm pretty sure I smell fine - not much time to sweat.
Speaking of sweat, I'm very antsy right now. I need to move. It feels better. I'm very tempted to do easy squats against the wall with my swiss ball. In real life, I can do 100 and start to feel a little something normally, so 10 every now and again would be fine. I'm pretty sure I can't do pushups for a long time. Worse things have happened in life.
I want to clean the place - I want to do a lot. That's so Me. I'm a spaz. If only the pain meds made me sleepy... but that would suck too, because I'd be cursing about being so tired. Yeah, I'm not really complaining I guess. I really don't know how folks get hooked on pain meds - it's not fun for me. Again, I guess that's good too.
Time to call the docs. I love my husband. He's a true warrior. Maybe he'll curl my hair.
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