Well, it's been a busy summer for me. A week and a half after returning from vacation, I traveled up to Fort Worth for the beginning of my reconstruction surgery. I can't believe it's been two and a half years since my life changed forever.
I won't gloss this over for anyone who is facing breast reconstruction requiring "flaps." Let me just tell you, it sucks donkeys. That being said though, I'm really glad I went through with it.
First, it's about a four and a half hour surgery in which the doctor takes muscle and skin from the back and relocates it to the chest. Then he/she puts the expanders underneath the skin which will be filled with solution over the next few weeks to stretch the skin out for the permanent silicone or saline implants. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
The very first thought I had when I woke up was 'What the hell was I thinking?' I felt like a herd of elephants had stampeded over my body.
My wonderful nurse gave me hope when she said, "Here's your morphine drip button. You can press it up to three times an hour." Click.
My second thing I thought was 'Thank God for morphine.' Click.
I was told not to move much. The nurse said, "Pretend you are a T Rex with the short arms. Keep your elbows close to your body. That's your range."
OK, that may sound easy. But have you ever tried to wash your hands without extending your arms? Or even pull up your pants without stretching too much? It's not easy. It makes a good case for being a nudist.
On the second day in the hospital, I decided I needed to get up and walk. It would help me feel normal and relieve my back ache. As I held on to my young nurse's arm, we walked past the nurses station. I noticed that all of the nurses seemed to be in their 20s. Then I heard one of the nurses behind the station "whisper" to the other, "Who is that?" The other young nurse responded, "Oh, that's Mrs. X, she's the sweetest lady." What bothered me was the tone of the voice. You know, the sing song kind you save for two-year-olds and 90-year-olds. I guess to them I looked like an old lady shuffling around in my bathrobe and no-skid socks. I felt like saying, "Girls, I can hear you! I haven't lost that yet."
Joking aside, the most unpleasant part of the whole thing were the four drainage tubes protruding from my body. I also had one "pain pouch" strapped around my neck with a tube going to my back. I guess it's similar to an epidural. They didn't hurt, it's just hard to move, put on clothes, and sleep.
Speaking of sleep, it didn't come easy. As I told my cancer survivor friend Sara, 'I was like a newborn. At first all I did was eat, sleep and poop.' And Sara responded, "Except that you can't poop for about a week after surgery." Thanks Sara for that reminder.
I don't know if it was because of all of the medications, the difficulty moving, or worry, but I seldom got more than three continuous hours of sleep.
Which brings me to a very important point. If going through this surgery, one must have someone there at all times. I will say this is no light duty care the person gives the patient. This person must:
1) Help drain the drains twice a day
2) Help the patient get into and out of bed
3) Make meals
4) Help the patient get dressed
5) Track all medications given
6) Help monitor healing
7) Drive the patient to doctor appointments
8) Be a cheerleader
9) Be on call 24/7
For doing all of this, my dear husband has elevated his status from mortal man to near god status. He has earned his right to throw his dirty laundry on the floor, forget an item off of the grocery list, and most of all, force me to watch three straight hours of PGA coverage on cable. The latter did help my sleep status.
But a week after the surgery, two tubes and the pain tube were removed. Slowly I was returning to normal. But the most encouraging news was when the doctor saw me and said it looked great. He then left and let the nurse remove the tubes. Suddenly, we heard a knock at the door and he popped his head back in. I thought he was going to ask the nurse to help him with something, but instead he looked at me and with an excited voice said, "You really do look great!" He was obviously proud of his work as was I.
Next time, I'll tell you about the filling process. Imagine filling water balloons. Until then, I hope this helps someone who is facing what I have faced.
Wondering which I should get? Silicone or saline?
The Wondering Texan
 |
| My back scars about seven weeks after surgery. |
I won't gloss this over for anyone who is facing breast reconstruction requiring "flaps." Let me just tell you, it sucks donkeys. That being said though, I'm really glad I went through with it.
First, it's about a four and a half hour surgery in which the doctor takes muscle and skin from the back and relocates it to the chest. Then he/she puts the expanders underneath the skin which will be filled with solution over the next few weeks to stretch the skin out for the permanent silicone or saline implants. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
The very first thought I had when I woke up was 'What the hell was I thinking?' I felt like a herd of elephants had stampeded over my body.
My wonderful nurse gave me hope when she said, "Here's your morphine drip button. You can press it up to three times an hour." Click.
My second thing I thought was 'Thank God for morphine.' Click.
I was told not to move much. The nurse said, "Pretend you are a T Rex with the short arms. Keep your elbows close to your body. That's your range."
OK, that may sound easy. But have you ever tried to wash your hands without extending your arms? Or even pull up your pants without stretching too much? It's not easy. It makes a good case for being a nudist.
On the second day in the hospital, I decided I needed to get up and walk. It would help me feel normal and relieve my back ache. As I held on to my young nurse's arm, we walked past the nurses station. I noticed that all of the nurses seemed to be in their 20s. Then I heard one of the nurses behind the station "whisper" to the other, "Who is that?" The other young nurse responded, "Oh, that's Mrs. X, she's the sweetest lady." What bothered me was the tone of the voice. You know, the sing song kind you save for two-year-olds and 90-year-olds. I guess to them I looked like an old lady shuffling around in my bathrobe and no-skid socks. I felt like saying, "Girls, I can hear you! I haven't lost that yet."
Joking aside, the most unpleasant part of the whole thing were the four drainage tubes protruding from my body. I also had one "pain pouch" strapped around my neck with a tube going to my back. I guess it's similar to an epidural. They didn't hurt, it's just hard to move, put on clothes, and sleep.
Speaking of sleep, it didn't come easy. As I told my cancer survivor friend Sara, 'I was like a newborn. At first all I did was eat, sleep and poop.' And Sara responded, "Except that you can't poop for about a week after surgery." Thanks Sara for that reminder.
I don't know if it was because of all of the medications, the difficulty moving, or worry, but I seldom got more than three continuous hours of sleep.
Which brings me to a very important point. If going through this surgery, one must have someone there at all times. I will say this is no light duty care the person gives the patient. This person must:
1) Help drain the drains twice a day
2) Help the patient get into and out of bed
3) Make meals
4) Help the patient get dressed
5) Track all medications given
6) Help monitor healing
7) Drive the patient to doctor appointments
8) Be a cheerleader
9) Be on call 24/7
For doing all of this, my dear husband has elevated his status from mortal man to near god status. He has earned his right to throw his dirty laundry on the floor, forget an item off of the grocery list, and most of all, force me to watch three straight hours of PGA coverage on cable. The latter did help my sleep status.
But a week after the surgery, two tubes and the pain tube were removed. Slowly I was returning to normal. But the most encouraging news was when the doctor saw me and said it looked great. He then left and let the nurse remove the tubes. Suddenly, we heard a knock at the door and he popped his head back in. I thought he was going to ask the nurse to help him with something, but instead he looked at me and with an excited voice said, "You really do look great!" He was obviously proud of his work as was I.
Next time, I'll tell you about the filling process. Imagine filling water balloons. Until then, I hope this helps someone who is facing what I have faced.
Wondering which I should get? Silicone or saline?
The Wondering Texan
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