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raybearYesterday we ate breakfast in the Castro and killed some time before hitching our ride to the airport. We walked by record store and DYA said, 'oh, does Madonna have a new album?' and we realized, no, that's Gwen Stefani. Then SNK posted about a Gwen Stefani song on her journal (a cover/interpolation of Lady Saw's 'If I Were a Rich Girl', which in turn samples Fiddler on the Roof), and that reminded me to check it out. So I'm listening to it this morning and it's so utterly ridiculous and I kind of absolutely love it. The song "Crash"? It's like a Kylie Minogue b-side to "she don't got the boom like I do". The song "Luxurious"? Has the same sample as "Big Poppa". The song "Hollaback Girl"? A strange cross between 80s "Mickey" and last year's "Tipsy".
Okay, now onto the regular journal entry -- more about my chest, the surgery, the end of my trip, etc. Less existential this time.
On Monday I got my drains taken out which most everyone says is one of the more painful parts of the experience -- the discomfort of them there as well as the removal themselves. And yes, I was certainly glad to have them out and it did smart a little when he pulled the tubing out, but frankly the changing of the bandages on my nipples felt way worse because it was stingy and pulled on my chest hairs. After I left the office, I had an huge initial euphoria and wanted to run wild. So we planned an outing to Oakland and Berkeley, that mostly involved just walking around and going out to lunch. I was so sleepy the whole time, but like a little kid who was tired of all the good stuff happening while asleep, so I pushed myself to be active. If by 'active' I mean walking two blocks to a bookstore and driving around. By 5 pm we got home and I was wiped out.
On Tuesday, I was still really uncomfortable. It was the stitches. I hadn't really heard many people complain about this aspect, but I just knew that was the problem. I considered going back on the vicodin, but stuck to tylenol and arnica. I could get through one more day. I'm sure the low-level constant pain contributed to my psychological anxiety about seeing my chest.
On Wednesday morning I was up early, ready to go back to the doctor. Unfortunately my appointment was not until 1:30 pm. I spent the morning watching television, reading up on the website where I'm starting to write porn reviews, and then watching one of the movies I will be reviewing. We killed enough time then headed into the city.
Brownstein seemed more talkative this time and not as dry as usual. The stitches coming out hurt. Hurt. More than the drains, in my opinion. Then again, I hate stingy pain so it's also just a matter of personal thresholds. Also, one of the stitches on my left nipple was really hard for him to get to -- I think my skin had started to heal around it so he had to dig it out a little bit. Ow. But then it was done and I was out the door and everything felt great. Sure, still some muscle soreness, but 90% of my pain and discomfort came out along with the stitches. Who knows, maybe it was 90% psychological, since now I was done with doctor visits and free to go home.
We decided to spend the afternoon in the city, going over to Grace Cathedral, as recommended to us by one of our hosts. It was a driving adventure getting there, as we had to climb some of the city's steepest hills, in a stickshift car. Well, if by 'we', I mean DYA, since she did all the driving and I did all the navigating and attempts at moral support. We got to the cathedral, meandered through the garden and the chapels and walked the labyrinth and it was a lovely and needed respite. I mean, neither one of us is Episcopalian or even Christian, but the motto of the church was "reconnecting your spirit without disconnecting your mind" and we can appreciate quiet sanctuary, especially one that's open to numerous faiths.
And in the men's room of Grace Cathedral I took off my binder and looked at my chest in the mirror for the first time. I did not freak out or cry or panic or worry that my nipples were too high. I was mostly in awe. It looked better than I imagined. I couldn't really stop grinning. Or feeling relieved. I actually looked at my chest before we went through the church and labyrinth which I think helped me be less preoccupied. My mind was able to stay quiet and present, because the subconscious freaking out was alleviated.
One minor point I'm very happy about it is how the incisions look on my sternum -- mainly that I don't have any. My breasts were smallish and triangular and hung low and to the side, so when he reconstructed the chest, he didn't have to cut all the way across, which means I don't have curved incision in the middle that lots of other people do -- the sort of upside down heart shaped line, or an upside down line drawing of a bird flying in the horizon. It's hard to explain, but basically, I have a mostly straight line under each pec that don't connect in the middle. Oh wait, here are pics from his website. My chest does NOT look like this, but instead looks more like THIS. Except hairier.
That Wednesday night I showed my chest to Lowenstein, and also to one of the hosts (I need to come up with much better nicknames, but it's hard to sum up either one of them so easily and I adored them both so much). I spent some more time by myself in the bathroom looking in the mirror. At one point I just got giddy and looked at myself and said affectionately, "You bastard. You fcking did it. I can't believe you fcking did it."
So, it's not over. I'm still healing, still have some muscle soreness and not complete mobility and I have to shower without getting my chest too wet and change the gauze on my nipples every day and wear the binder a bit longer, which is actually fine by me because when I go without it, I feel like there's lots of random movement and twitching and swelling that's disconcerting even though I know it's normal, and the binder helps with that.
But now I'm going to finally cut my hair and take a shower for the first time (I've only done baths so far). And ease back into my life on this rainy Friday.
"Stars when you shine: you know how I feel."
Okay, now onto the regular journal entry -- more about my chest, the surgery, the end of my trip, etc. Less existential this time.
On Monday I got my drains taken out which most everyone says is one of the more painful parts of the experience -- the discomfort of them there as well as the removal themselves. And yes, I was certainly glad to have them out and it did smart a little when he pulled the tubing out, but frankly the changing of the bandages on my nipples felt way worse because it was stingy and pulled on my chest hairs. After I left the office, I had an huge initial euphoria and wanted to run wild. So we planned an outing to Oakland and Berkeley, that mostly involved just walking around and going out to lunch. I was so sleepy the whole time, but like a little kid who was tired of all the good stuff happening while asleep, so I pushed myself to be active. If by 'active' I mean walking two blocks to a bookstore and driving around. By 5 pm we got home and I was wiped out.
On Tuesday, I was still really uncomfortable. It was the stitches. I hadn't really heard many people complain about this aspect, but I just knew that was the problem. I considered going back on the vicodin, but stuck to tylenol and arnica. I could get through one more day. I'm sure the low-level constant pain contributed to my psychological anxiety about seeing my chest.
On Wednesday morning I was up early, ready to go back to the doctor. Unfortunately my appointment was not until 1:30 pm. I spent the morning watching television, reading up on the website where I'm starting to write porn reviews, and then watching one of the movies I will be reviewing. We killed enough time then headed into the city.
Brownstein seemed more talkative this time and not as dry as usual. The stitches coming out hurt. Hurt. More than the drains, in my opinion. Then again, I hate stingy pain so it's also just a matter of personal thresholds. Also, one of the stitches on my left nipple was really hard for him to get to -- I think my skin had started to heal around it so he had to dig it out a little bit. Ow. But then it was done and I was out the door and everything felt great. Sure, still some muscle soreness, but 90% of my pain and discomfort came out along with the stitches. Who knows, maybe it was 90% psychological, since now I was done with doctor visits and free to go home.
We decided to spend the afternoon in the city, going over to Grace Cathedral, as recommended to us by one of our hosts. It was a driving adventure getting there, as we had to climb some of the city's steepest hills, in a stickshift car. Well, if by 'we', I mean DYA, since she did all the driving and I did all the navigating and attempts at moral support. We got to the cathedral, meandered through the garden and the chapels and walked the labyrinth and it was a lovely and needed respite. I mean, neither one of us is Episcopalian or even Christian, but the motto of the church was "reconnecting your spirit without disconnecting your mind" and we can appreciate quiet sanctuary, especially one that's open to numerous faiths.
And in the men's room of Grace Cathedral I took off my binder and looked at my chest in the mirror for the first time. I did not freak out or cry or panic or worry that my nipples were too high. I was mostly in awe. It looked better than I imagined. I couldn't really stop grinning. Or feeling relieved. I actually looked at my chest before we went through the church and labyrinth which I think helped me be less preoccupied. My mind was able to stay quiet and present, because the subconscious freaking out was alleviated.
One minor point I'm very happy about it is how the incisions look on my sternum -- mainly that I don't have any. My breasts were smallish and triangular and hung low and to the side, so when he reconstructed the chest, he didn't have to cut all the way across, which means I don't have curved incision in the middle that lots of other people do -- the sort of upside down heart shaped line, or an upside down line drawing of a bird flying in the horizon. It's hard to explain, but basically, I have a mostly straight line under each pec that don't connect in the middle. Oh wait, here are pics from his website. My chest does NOT look like this, but instead looks more like THIS. Except hairier.
That Wednesday night I showed my chest to Lowenstein, and also to one of the hosts (I need to come up with much better nicknames, but it's hard to sum up either one of them so easily and I adored them both so much). I spent some more time by myself in the bathroom looking in the mirror. At one point I just got giddy and looked at myself and said affectionately, "You bastard. You fcking did it. I can't believe you fcking did it."
So, it's not over. I'm still healing, still have some muscle soreness and not complete mobility and I have to shower without getting my chest too wet and change the gauze on my nipples every day and wear the binder a bit longer, which is actually fine by me because when I go without it, I feel like there's lots of random movement and twitching and swelling that's disconcerting even though I know it's normal, and the binder helps with that.
But now I'm going to finally cut my hair and take a shower for the first time (I've only done baths so far). And ease back into my life on this rainy Friday.
"Stars when you shine: you know how I feel."
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no subject
Date: 2004-11-19 10:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-19 10:59 am (UTC)and luckily the paper tape he gave me for the next week is not as sticky and therefore not as painful when removing.