I've Got This

 And just like that, six years have come and gone. The years have seemed typical, I suppose, with laughter and love and friends and family.  We have watched our son grow (and grow and grow) into an incredible young teenager.  I have felt strong(ish), healthy, and whole.  I have worked with countless patients, volunteered excessively, and lived life, always trying to be the best wife, mom, and friend. I have also been uncomfortable.  I have felt, for the last six years, like my chest has been wrapped in the tightest industrial cellophane or tape you could imagine.  I have been unable to do even one pushup.  I have been unable to regain my shoulder flexion (overhead) strength, and I even tore my acellular dermal matrix (ADM or mesh) in a Pilates class.  I have been unable to lie on my stomach.  I have lost countless hours of sleep.   I have been unable to receive any MRI imaging to check for implant integrity, which was recommended wh...

I love babies.  I absolutely, positively LOVE them.  I want to watch them, to hold them, to look at their little features, fingers, toes. I loved my own.  To pieces.  If I was holding him, there was an unstoppable force that drew my lips to his head.  I had to smell him and kiss his face... I just had to.  Constantly.  That force is still strong.  Mostly if he's sleeping, because he has now developed an aversion to being kissed on the face by his mom all day. Puhleeze. There is something so incredibly natural about holding a baby to your body, about cradling it to your bosom.  It's really the absolute most natural act for almost any person.  Your breast (as a location, not anatomical objects) is where you breathe.  It's where you love.  It's where you experience the best and worst of life -- crushing love best, and crushing love worst. My friend just had a baby.  I spent most of her pregnancy with her, experiencing a...

This word has two meanings for me right now. The first is strictly cosmetic, and I'll let you use your imagination.  The second is much more profound, and my personal understanding of the word deepens each day. I have described the support I have received from my family and friends as an avalanche, but that doesn't come close to being accurate.  I have felt propelled upwards, like I am being bubbled up and supported from underneath, much more like riding a wave.  Close friends, not so close friends, acquaintances, and even strangers have given of themselves without a second thought.  I have been crushed (literally) by hugs, and I have been blessed with tears. I have heard from so many people who have offered their thoughts and prayers.  That may not sound like much to some, but I find it comforting to know that I occupy the strings of consciousness of those that have drifted into or out of my life.  This experience has connected us again, on some leve...

If you have been reading this blog, you may have noticed that I keep mentioning this strange feeling of thoracic tightness.  Seriously, several times each day, I try to pull away the bra that is four sizes too small, to stretch it out or loosen it, only to find that THERE IS NOTHING THERE! The feeling of tightness is present one hundred percent of the time.  It never goes away.  The occasional stabbing pain is there. The deep zing is in my armpit, but just sometimes.  The skin and fascia at the inferior angles of my ribs are extremely sensitive, like hot spots.  The cutaneous nerves on my thorax are hypersensitive.  I can't sneeze without whimpering. Four weeks after my surgery, we went out of town and stayed at a lovely golf/beach resort.  I was looking forward to seeing two of my oldest girlfriends, and I noticed that there was a spa on the premisis.  Naturally, I booked a massage. Well, most of you know that I am a massage therapist. ...

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.  T...