A Beautiful Irony

Last Monday I had the first surgery in a phase of breast cancer reconstruction. Basically some of my back moved to my front via my armpit. It's as gnarly as it sounds. I've had three drain tubes trailing directly out of my skin for over a week now. Totally reminds me of The Matrix. 

It's been a hard week or so. The night after my surgery I stayed in the hospital, pretty much drifting in and out of episodes of American Greed. My nurse was 15 minutes late with my morphine the first time. He made some joke about how my doctor had so no more morphine, and I told him it wasn't funny at all. The second time he was 45 minutes late. I'm sure there was a reason, but it just goes to show people can decide their hustle based on how they feel about you. Not so well played, Rita Arens.

I didn't really understand what had happened to me until I finally found an animation that wasn't too gross. Now I understand why the healing has been going what to me feels like so slow. I was back at work four days after my lumpectomy, after all. It was way too soon emotionally, but I was fine physically. This time has been the opposite, except for two big cry days.

Last night I went to sleep at midnight and Beloved woke me up at 1 pm. I remember getting up with my alarms to take hydrocodone at four and eight am and my other pills at 9, but each time the fog enveloped me again pretty quickly. If he hadn't woken me up, I think I could've slept 24 hours straight. I do feel better, though.

The reason I wanted to write, other than to capture how this has been (the somewhat primordal scent of limbs not fully lifted in days, the clicking and hissing of hospital machinery in the wee hours, the passing fear that your actual skin might die during a commercial break) -- is to say I found myself searching blogs for what to expect in the ensuing weeks. I've had my first surgery, and now I anticipate my second, which will be much easier, much quicker. I'm amazed at how open and honest the bloggers are, even sharing pictures of what their expanders look like in naked breasts. I wonder, if this would've happened to me years ago when I was more comfortable sharing all my feelings on the Internet, if I would've posted pictures, too. Most of what I find is about reconstruction after masectomy, but my lumpectomy was so extensive and my radiation so effective, I'm essentially being treated like I lost the whole damn thing. 

So hear I am, someone who blogged so faithfully for so many years, surfing and searching the blogosphere for other people's courage and raw authenticity. It feels great to know I can do this, that the whole emergence of blogging created a safe space to say things we all want to hear and no one is able to find in the scientific journals or legally approved medical websites. 

I have to go now - evidence of my past blogging lingers in my inbox. This month I emailed with a woman whose cat had the same surgery I blogged about years ago, and two boyfriends have emailed about my 2013 post on eating disorders and relationships. 

This is beautiful and amazing, that we can all talk together about these hard things in these ways. That I need it so much now feels like a beautiful irony.