Life Resumes

I made it.  I went home and slept/watched Netflix for a week.  Or three.  Loved ones visited, brought lunch, sent flowers, and called.   Thank you notes were written and mailed.  (That's another thing to make sure you have before you go to the hospital... lots and lots of thank you notes and stamps.)

I sleep on my back.  Still.  That sucks.

Mornings are the most difficult time of the day.  I wake up and lie still, assessing what it is that I am feeling.   Tightness, yes.  Pain, perhaps.  Aching, always.  Once I figure out how in the world I'm going to sit up, I execute the supine-to-sit transfer, and I wait.  This is when my muscles figure out that it wasn't just a bad dream, and they contract.  Hard.

I was in Publix, in the produce section, and I stopped in front of the hard, brown, hairy coconuts.  That's what I feel like is under my skin.  Almost constantly.

My drains came out in week two.  That sucked.

Once I was no longer on pain medication, I was allowed to drive.  I only drove locally (25-30 mph roads), on Tylenol.  I couldn't bring my hand all the way around the steering wheel, but I used small arm movements safely.  I think that started a day or two after the drains were removed.  The kid still has to go to school, right?  They (my husband) let me back into the pickup/dropoff rotation!  Yay!

I started physical therapy to restore my range of motion... strengthening not allowed yet.

I knitted a baby blanket.

I was finally allowed to walk very slowly, for a long time, on the treadmill.  As long as my blood pressure didn't increase.

I watched Season 1 of House of Cards.

I went to follow up doctor's appointments.

I watched Seasons 1-4 of Downton Abbey.

I couldn't reach anything.

I drank a lot of water.  A lot.  Like it rained water bottles.

I did some online shopping.

I felt stabbing/shooting pains in the breast quite often.

I had a very long (two weeks), heated (but ultimately successful for me) discussion with my new radiation oncologist, my oncologist, and my surgeon about whether or not I would require radiation or another surgery due to "insufficient margins."

I watched Orange is the New Black.

I had to start taking tamoxifen anyway.  Twice a day, for ten years.

I started watching Breaking Bad.

I felt like the skin on my chest, from my neck down to the inferior angle of my ribs was hyper, hyper sensitive.  It was telling my brain that EVERYTHING that touched it was made of rough grit sandpaper.   This is why ribbed undershirts were offensive and unbearable.  This feeling gradually subsided.

I developed and was able to resolve truncal edema on my right side.  Thank you to Christine at the Sari Asher Center for Integrative Cancer Care at the Palm Beach Cancer Institute.

I discovered that my greatest fear on Earth is to sneeze after a mastectomy.  That sucks, my friends.  So much force there that you can and will rupture stitches. 

So now, if you have questions about political dealings with bad Southern accents in Washington, 1920's privileged English estate life, prison, or meth labs, I'm partially qualified to have a conversation.  I am even more ready to discuss bandage changes, drain output, self pectoralis major massage with Emu vs. botanical oils, and the inability or unwillingness of local pharmacies to fill a legitimate prescription for Percocet.  (No love lost for Center City Pharmacy on Clematis Street, who rudely refused to fill my prescription.  I even asked the lady where she would send me for help if I were her mother and not a stranger.. no dice.   Heartless crone.)

Basic overview for weeks one through six:

• CONSTANT tight feeling around chest, like I'm wrapped tightly in duct tape
• Occasional shooting pain throughout breast, either one, sometimes both.
• Inability to take a deep breath without being stopped by pain and restriction.
• Sneezing is terrifying, perhaps dangerous.
• Pulleys/wall walk used to restore shoulder flexion (raising arm) to about 160 degrees (180 is normal), stopped by intense tightness/stretch.
• Absolutely unable to lie on either side, diminishing my ability to get a good night's sleep.
• Deep zinging pain in axilla (where nodes were removed), increases proportionally with upper extremity activity or exertion.
• The expansion process is uncomfortable.  Not painful, but intensely uncomfortable. 
• I can kill an orchid faster than anyone.  I destroyed four in record time.

Without my the support of my family, I am sure this overview would be peppered with negativity.  I know I've said it before, but I am the luckiest girl in the world.