Today was my second post-op appointment, and I got a little good news, and a little bad news. I like to end on a high note, so I'll give you the bad news first.
During surgery, they glued some special tape over the abdominal incision to give it some additional support and keep it from pulling open. Fun fact about me: I have really sensitive skin, and sometimes adhesive irritates me. This is one of those times. So they pulled the entire thing off today, which is earlier than they like to, because my skin was just done with that stuff.
They used a bit of adhesive remover to loosen it up, but it still felt about like a bikini wax coming off. So that was fun. Then, it continued to hurt... Because my skin is a little broken down in some spots from the adhesive. It looks like a bunch of small scratches that are just a teensy bit bleedy, and they sting like, well, a bunch of small scratches that are a teensy bit bleedy. Leave it to me to have a major surgery that impacts my entire torso, and the dang bandaids do me in.
I also have a bit of an itchy rash, so that's fun, but some rx cream should clear that right up.
The last bit of bad news is a little more serious, but they assured me it happens all the time and not to worry, just be extra careful. So during the tummy tuck part of the surgery, they're pulling your abdomen back together and there's not enough skin, so it's real tight. Hence the need to walk bent over. Mine is particularly tight, because they were able to use my c-section scar so that the final product is nicer, but it was lower than she usually goes, so the whole thing is a bit tighter. So a possible complication, which I am having, is that it sort of pulls apart a little bit - they call it "delayed wound healing" and she said it's really a very tiny spot and it'll close up just fine. I suspect it's probably complicated by my low platelets, but I didn't ask. So I just have to stay extra bent over, especially since I no longer have the tape on there as a reinforcement. They also gave me a special dressing that will help it heal, without causing the adhesive skin reaction above. And because of all that, I have to wait another week to drive, and I have to go back next week to make sure it's all healing well, instead of in two weeks.
Pause. That all sounds sort of terrible, doesn't it? But really, it's all going to be just fine, and it really is a very small spot. And the skin breakdown is very superficial and will probably clear right up now that the tape is gone. So, deep breath, and stop worrying and thinking doomy gloomy thoughts. I'm rocking this recovery phase!
Now then, how about some good news?
The girls are looking great. The left one is still all sorts of greenish purple from the bleeding (which was from a little clot, doc said), but they're healing so well, and they look pretty good, if I do say so myself.
I no longer have to wear the surgical bra, which is AMAZING because that little thing is unbelievably itchy. Or maybe that's the rash that was so itchy, but I think the bra contributed to it, so same thing. I am now allowed to wear those really comfortable camisole type bras, so that is very exciting.
I can raise my hands overhead and do range of motion exercises. Well, I can't actually raise them that high, but I'm allowed to start trying. Do you know what this means?!?! I can shave my armpits. Hallelujah, God is good, y'all. I can also wear whatever I want now, because I can move my arms around to get into real clothes instead of just button up shirts.
Oh, I nearly forgot! Because of all the issues above, I get to take a week off from The Miniskirt! Which, despite all my complaints, is actually pretty helpful for my sore swelly belly.
So overall, a pretty good appointment. I also enjoyed getting some one on one time with James, because he's been taking me to these weekly appointments. Date Day for the win!
Thursday, August 29, 2019
Wednesday, August 28, 2019
Laugh or Cry, Volume 2
Welcome, friends, to another episode of Laugh or Cry.
The Belly Button Chronicles
The Belly Button Chronicles
Ah, the belly button. The subject of books and songs, the source of life and of giggles.
During my surgery, my belly button had to be relocated, because the location where it has resided the last 34 years is now, ahem, much lower than before. So, it was sort of an arts and crafts project - cut it out, paste it into the new location, ta da!
So as you can imagine, when I first got home, it was a bit gruesome looking. Luke looks over Mom's shoulder with a very puzzled look, and says, What's DAT?!
That's my belly button, buddy.
Why you break yous belly button?
During my surgery, my belly button had to be relocated, because the location where it has resided the last 34 years is now, ahem, much lower than before. So, it was sort of an arts and crafts project - cut it out, paste it into the new location, ta da!
So as you can imagine, when I first got home, it was a bit gruesome looking. Luke looks over Mom's shoulder with a very puzzled look, and says, What's DAT?!
That's my belly button, buddy.
Why you break yous belly button?
Well, sometimes that happens, buddy, sometimes that happens.
(And in case you are wondering, it has already improved greatly in appearance, although it's still got a ways to go before being recognized as a belly button by a 2 year old.)
(And in case you are wondering, it has already improved greatly in appearance, although it's still got a ways to go before being recognized as a belly button by a 2 year old.)
Monday, August 26, 2019
You Can Either Laugh or Cry
Life is full of choices.
Plain milk, or chocolate milk.
Oreos, or chocolate chips.
Vanilla ice cream, or chocolate.
Laugh about unfortunate circumstances, or cry over them.
I choose to laugh. (I also choose chocolate, but that's irrelevant at the moment.)
There are a hundred little aspects to this journey that kind of (or really) suck, but in the spirit of choosing to laugh, I'm going to share them with you. Today's installment:
The Miniskirt.
This surgery and recovery comes with a lot of gear. Special garments, helpful devices, that sort of thing. One of these is the belly band.
My abdomen has taken a beating. A section of fat and skin was removed, and they also had to poke around my ab muscles to find the right arteries to disconnect and reconnect up top. Oh, and my belly button also had to be relocated, but that's a story for another day.
So after all that trauma, they want me to wear a belly band all day to provide support for my poor abused belly.
I'm not taking a picture to model this thing, so let me help you understand. This garment is made of elastic that puts Spanx to shame. I'm fairly certain it came from NASA, and was possibly rejected for being too rigid. It even has these little squiggly ribs inside to give it more rigidity, so that when I peel it off at the end of the day, my skin resembles a Wavy Lays potato chip. You ever need to fit into your little black dress, after choosing chocolate a few too many times, you call me, I can hook you up.
The top and bottom edges have a wide band of flat elastic to attempt to keep the garment in place. The top edge starts at my ribs and slowly works its way down all day. The bottom edge, in a perfect world, would sit below my butt and stay put. Sadly, we live in a fallen world.
Additionally, the garment is sized for a 9 year old. Something about a snug fit provides better support, but they underestimated the circumference of my torso, especially my butt, as well as the length of my torso. So o spend my days fighting to keep stuffing in the sausage wrap, so to speak.
A super fun part of the cancer/recovery thing is that pretty much all of your dignity is stripped away as you give up all autonomy for caring for your own body. I'm not allowed to push, pull or lift more than 5-7 pounds. This belly band requires approximately 847 pounds of pull force to get into its designated location. Which means... I can't put it there by myself. Or even help with the process. The best I can do is stand very still, with my legs as close together as I can get them, think tiny-hiney thoughts, and try my best not to fall over as a loved one hoists this garment into place. So, the first day I'm putting this thing on, James jokes, "Hey, it's like a miniskirt." Have I mentioned that it's maybe harder to be the Loved One than the Patient?
So, remember how I told you the band comes down below my butt? And remember how I told you that I can't get it on by myself? You see any issues with this setup? Underwear. Underwear are an issue. Because if I were able to squeeze anything between myself and the band, then it'd be stuck there until someone was ready to help me take it off for the day. I may have given up a lot of my autonomy, but at least I'm able to go pee on my own.
Oh, and one more thing about this wonderful garment. Actually, two. One, it's HOT. Did you know I live in Texas, and it's August, and I'm on hormone blockers than cause hot flashes? So let's add another layer of fabric that absolutely does not BREATHE, and enjoy! Two, I'm the tiniest bit claustrophobic. It's not quite tight enough to restrict my breathing, but I spend the entire day just noticing its faithful presence. So by the end of the day all I can think is GETITOFFGETITOFFGETITOFF.
And now, my friends, you have a thorough appreciation of the belly band, and hopefully you've had a good laugh, as well!
Plain milk, or chocolate milk.
Oreos, or chocolate chips.
Vanilla ice cream, or chocolate.
Laugh about unfortunate circumstances, or cry over them.
I choose to laugh. (I also choose chocolate, but that's irrelevant at the moment.)
There are a hundred little aspects to this journey that kind of (or really) suck, but in the spirit of choosing to laugh, I'm going to share them with you. Today's installment:
The Miniskirt.
This surgery and recovery comes with a lot of gear. Special garments, helpful devices, that sort of thing. One of these is the belly band.
My abdomen has taken a beating. A section of fat and skin was removed, and they also had to poke around my ab muscles to find the right arteries to disconnect and reconnect up top. Oh, and my belly button also had to be relocated, but that's a story for another day.
So after all that trauma, they want me to wear a belly band all day to provide support for my poor abused belly.
I'm not taking a picture to model this thing, so let me help you understand. This garment is made of elastic that puts Spanx to shame. I'm fairly certain it came from NASA, and was possibly rejected for being too rigid. It even has these little squiggly ribs inside to give it more rigidity, so that when I peel it off at the end of the day, my skin resembles a Wavy Lays potato chip. You ever need to fit into your little black dress, after choosing chocolate a few too many times, you call me, I can hook you up.
The top and bottom edges have a wide band of flat elastic to attempt to keep the garment in place. The top edge starts at my ribs and slowly works its way down all day. The bottom edge, in a perfect world, would sit below my butt and stay put. Sadly, we live in a fallen world.
Additionally, the garment is sized for a 9 year old. Something about a snug fit provides better support, but they underestimated the circumference of my torso, especially my butt, as well as the length of my torso. So o spend my days fighting to keep stuffing in the sausage wrap, so to speak.
A super fun part of the cancer/recovery thing is that pretty much all of your dignity is stripped away as you give up all autonomy for caring for your own body. I'm not allowed to push, pull or lift more than 5-7 pounds. This belly band requires approximately 847 pounds of pull force to get into its designated location. Which means... I can't put it there by myself. Or even help with the process. The best I can do is stand very still, with my legs as close together as I can get them, think tiny-hiney thoughts, and try my best not to fall over as a loved one hoists this garment into place. So, the first day I'm putting this thing on, James jokes, "Hey, it's like a miniskirt." Have I mentioned that it's maybe harder to be the Loved One than the Patient?
So, remember how I told you the band comes down below my butt? And remember how I told you that I can't get it on by myself? You see any issues with this setup? Underwear. Underwear are an issue. Because if I were able to squeeze anything between myself and the band, then it'd be stuck there until someone was ready to help me take it off for the day. I may have given up a lot of my autonomy, but at least I'm able to go pee on my own.
Oh, and one more thing about this wonderful garment. Actually, two. One, it's HOT. Did you know I live in Texas, and it's August, and I'm on hormone blockers than cause hot flashes? So let's add another layer of fabric that absolutely does not BREATHE, and enjoy! Two, I'm the tiniest bit claustrophobic. It's not quite tight enough to restrict my breathing, but I spend the entire day just noticing its faithful presence. So by the end of the day all I can think is GETITOFFGETITOFFGETITOFF.
And now, my friends, you have a thorough appreciation of the belly band, and hopefully you've had a good laugh, as well!
Sunday, August 25, 2019
Two Weeks Out
This is why I am not a real blogger: because I can't manage to write more than once or twice a month. Woops.
But, I have a blog, and I'm writing, and you're reading, so here we go again.
It's been two weeks since my big surgery.
Two weeks already!?!
and also...
Only two weeks?!?
Overall, things are going really, really well.
My boobs look like... Boobs. The first time I saw them, two nurses had my bra open and the foot of my hospital bed was filled with at least 4 people from my surgical team. I'd just come back from a second, unplanned surgery (more on that, later). I looked down, checked out each of the girls, and announced, Cool! I don't really know what I was expecting, but I was pleasantly surprised. And also heavily medicated, but whatever.
So, let's back up and I'll give you a recap. This might get long; sorry in advance.
Monday morning, I ended up driving myself to the hospital, and 103.7 was playing all the good music so I had church in my car all the way to the hospital, and I walked in with a smile on my face and a pep in my step. God is good, y'all.
Wait, I've gotta back up a little more, so you know why I drove myself to the hospital. The short story is, my sister and 4:30am are not friends. The long story is, James was still in the hospital. Not even the same hospital I was headed to, either.
On Saturday morning (the 10th) after several days of stomach pain without relief, I sent James to a freestanding ER, where he was diagnosed with appendicitis. Houston Methodist (my hospital) was full, so he was transferred to Clear Lake Regional, and that evening he had an appendectomy. My mom and mother in law juggled the boys so that I could be with him, and I stayed at the hospital with him that night. We saw the surgeon Sunday morning, expecting to be released since it was a laproscopic procedure, but that wasn't the case. It was "a particularly nasty" appendectomy, so he'd be staying at least another night.
I'm not gonna lie, leaving the hospital on Sunday afternoon, to go home and pack my own surgical bag and love on the boys, was one of the hardest things I've had to do on this journey. I've decided that it's a lot easier being the patient, than the loved one.
So, James was released on Monday, but he had a drain in place for a week, so he couldn't come up to my hospital because it was an infection risk. So instead, my sister was going to be the one staying with me. And like I said, she and 4am aren't friends. But, she and my dad met me in my pre-op room in plenty of time to hang out and pray before the big party started.
James is doing great now, by the way. The only stomach pain he has now is when the boys manage to knee him right in the spot where they did the procedure. They have quite the talent for that sort of thing, so it happens a couple times a day, but he's a tough guy and a good sport about it.
So, back to Monday, Surgery Day. It was an easy day for me; I slept through most of it. I think it was from 8-4ish, but I could be totally wrong on that.
Dr. Spiegel measured the tissue removed during the mastectomy, and it was, to the gram, the same weight as the abdominal tissue for that side. That's only happened a couple of times in over 1,500 surgeries, so she was geeking out about that.
Tuesday, the goal was simple: get out of bed and sit in a chair. Repeat. The Chair Trials, they called it. It took a nurse and a tech to move me from the bed to the chair, partially because it hurt my abdomen to move much, and partly because I had 24 tubes and wires coming off of me that they had to rearrange. Then I sat for an hour, with checks to my many monitors every 15 minutes. Then back to bed and check it all again. Then repeat later in the day.
On my second trial, I was in the chair a little longer than I should have been, and some of the numbers were fluctuating a lot more than they should have been. The nurse said she'd call and let the doctor know, but she didn't. That was around 8pm... Fast forward to 3am, and the resident was NOT happy with the way things were going and the way the nurse was handling things. He paged Dr. Spiegel, and I don't remember what time she arrived, but it was much earlier than her normal rounds.
A little bit later, the numbers were continuing to decline, so they decided that I needed to go back to the OR to "have a look around." They found some bleeding behind the new tissue and cleaned it up, and I think it took maybe an hour or 90 minutes. My platelets and hemoglobin had both tanked, so they ended up giving me 3 units of blood in the OR, which is kind of a lot.
Looking back, I am nothing short of amazed by the peace I had going into that surgery. Both, really, but especially the second one. The consents I had to sign were really serious, but my mind just didn't even stray to the many many What Ifs. God is good, y'all.
A little bit of background info: throughout most of my chemo and subsequent infusions, and even still, I have had low platelets. I also had low platelets during both pregnancies, and they caused some slight issues during Luke's delivery, but nothing dangerous or lasting. Platelets are the things in your blood that make it clot, so you don't just keep bleeding and bleeding. Not having enough platelets means I bruise easier on a normal basis, or bleed more during (and after) surgery. And the cool thing is, the doctors have no idea why mine are low. They considered treating with steroids beforehand, but decided that would be too risky because that might make my blood TOO clotty, which would be bad, also.
The rest of Wednesday is a bit hazy, between the anesthesia wearing off and the morphine.
Thursday was the day I was originally supposed to go home, but now, it was my new post op day 1. Which meant: The Chair Trials. This time, they went great.
Friday, I finally got to shower, and it was amazing. I also had my first shot at walking. I made it to the door to the neighboring room, and my back just seized up. It wasn't like normal pain, it was like, it just stopped being made up of moving, flexible muscles. It was either sit, or fall, so I sat in a nurse's chair that was conveniently nearby. After a few minutes, I worked up the nerve to walk back to bed. Later that day, I walked again, and made it to the end of the (rather short) hall.
Saturday, I finally got to come home! It was wonderful to get to come home and see my family. Luke kept coming up to me and saying Hey, Mom! with a little wave. Jay was a little more distant; I think he was processing everything, and probably remembering last year's surgery. He's come around now, though, and he's the best back scratcher ever.
I've had one post-op visit, and everything is looking great. I'm still walking around like Quasimodo, but no more back spasms. I still need LOTS of assistance with things like showering and getting dressed. It's really turned into a blessing, having James off work for more time than we'd planned. And of course, my mom is saving the day around the house and with the boys.
And, that's what I've been up to around here!
But, I have a blog, and I'm writing, and you're reading, so here we go again.
It's been two weeks since my big surgery.
Two weeks already!?!
and also...
Only two weeks?!?
Overall, things are going really, really well.
My boobs look like... Boobs. The first time I saw them, two nurses had my bra open and the foot of my hospital bed was filled with at least 4 people from my surgical team. I'd just come back from a second, unplanned surgery (more on that, later). I looked down, checked out each of the girls, and announced, Cool! I don't really know what I was expecting, but I was pleasantly surprised. And also heavily medicated, but whatever.
So, let's back up and I'll give you a recap. This might get long; sorry in advance.
Monday morning, I ended up driving myself to the hospital, and 103.7 was playing all the good music so I had church in my car all the way to the hospital, and I walked in with a smile on my face and a pep in my step. God is good, y'all.
Wait, I've gotta back up a little more, so you know why I drove myself to the hospital. The short story is, my sister and 4:30am are not friends. The long story is, James was still in the hospital. Not even the same hospital I was headed to, either.
On Saturday morning (the 10th) after several days of stomach pain without relief, I sent James to a freestanding ER, where he was diagnosed with appendicitis. Houston Methodist (my hospital) was full, so he was transferred to Clear Lake Regional, and that evening he had an appendectomy. My mom and mother in law juggled the boys so that I could be with him, and I stayed at the hospital with him that night. We saw the surgeon Sunday morning, expecting to be released since it was a laproscopic procedure, but that wasn't the case. It was "a particularly nasty" appendectomy, so he'd be staying at least another night.
I'm not gonna lie, leaving the hospital on Sunday afternoon, to go home and pack my own surgical bag and love on the boys, was one of the hardest things I've had to do on this journey. I've decided that it's a lot easier being the patient, than the loved one.
So, James was released on Monday, but he had a drain in place for a week, so he couldn't come up to my hospital because it was an infection risk. So instead, my sister was going to be the one staying with me. And like I said, she and 4am aren't friends. But, she and my dad met me in my pre-op room in plenty of time to hang out and pray before the big party started.
James is doing great now, by the way. The only stomach pain he has now is when the boys manage to knee him right in the spot where they did the procedure. They have quite the talent for that sort of thing, so it happens a couple times a day, but he's a tough guy and a good sport about it.
So, back to Monday, Surgery Day. It was an easy day for me; I slept through most of it. I think it was from 8-4ish, but I could be totally wrong on that.
Dr. Spiegel measured the tissue removed during the mastectomy, and it was, to the gram, the same weight as the abdominal tissue for that side. That's only happened a couple of times in over 1,500 surgeries, so she was geeking out about that.
Tuesday, the goal was simple: get out of bed and sit in a chair. Repeat. The Chair Trials, they called it. It took a nurse and a tech to move me from the bed to the chair, partially because it hurt my abdomen to move much, and partly because I had 24 tubes and wires coming off of me that they had to rearrange. Then I sat for an hour, with checks to my many monitors every 15 minutes. Then back to bed and check it all again. Then repeat later in the day.
On my second trial, I was in the chair a little longer than I should have been, and some of the numbers were fluctuating a lot more than they should have been. The nurse said she'd call and let the doctor know, but she didn't. That was around 8pm... Fast forward to 3am, and the resident was NOT happy with the way things were going and the way the nurse was handling things. He paged Dr. Spiegel, and I don't remember what time she arrived, but it was much earlier than her normal rounds.
A little bit later, the numbers were continuing to decline, so they decided that I needed to go back to the OR to "have a look around." They found some bleeding behind the new tissue and cleaned it up, and I think it took maybe an hour or 90 minutes. My platelets and hemoglobin had both tanked, so they ended up giving me 3 units of blood in the OR, which is kind of a lot.
Looking back, I am nothing short of amazed by the peace I had going into that surgery. Both, really, but especially the second one. The consents I had to sign were really serious, but my mind just didn't even stray to the many many What Ifs. God is good, y'all.
A little bit of background info: throughout most of my chemo and subsequent infusions, and even still, I have had low platelets. I also had low platelets during both pregnancies, and they caused some slight issues during Luke's delivery, but nothing dangerous or lasting. Platelets are the things in your blood that make it clot, so you don't just keep bleeding and bleeding. Not having enough platelets means I bruise easier on a normal basis, or bleed more during (and after) surgery. And the cool thing is, the doctors have no idea why mine are low. They considered treating with steroids beforehand, but decided that would be too risky because that might make my blood TOO clotty, which would be bad, also.
The rest of Wednesday is a bit hazy, between the anesthesia wearing off and the morphine.
Thursday was the day I was originally supposed to go home, but now, it was my new post op day 1. Which meant: The Chair Trials. This time, they went great.
Friday, I finally got to shower, and it was amazing. I also had my first shot at walking. I made it to the door to the neighboring room, and my back just seized up. It wasn't like normal pain, it was like, it just stopped being made up of moving, flexible muscles. It was either sit, or fall, so I sat in a nurse's chair that was conveniently nearby. After a few minutes, I worked up the nerve to walk back to bed. Later that day, I walked again, and made it to the end of the (rather short) hall.
Saturday, I finally got to come home! It was wonderful to get to come home and see my family. Luke kept coming up to me and saying Hey, Mom! with a little wave. Jay was a little more distant; I think he was processing everything, and probably remembering last year's surgery. He's come around now, though, and he's the best back scratcher ever.
I've had one post-op visit, and everything is looking great. I'm still walking around like Quasimodo, but no more back spasms. I still need LOTS of assistance with things like showering and getting dressed. It's really turned into a blessing, having James off work for more time than we'd planned. And of course, my mom is saving the day around the house and with the boys.
And, that's what I've been up to around here!
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