Thankful I’m married to Ed with all this shit –my man tended to anything I asked for, and some things I didn’t. Valium began to work on the muscle pain, eased the spasms so I could breathe without the intense throbbing. I slept sitting up; sleep was such a relief.
The next morning felt rested, last night’s prayer answered, throbbing subdued, a dullish ache in my chest by morning. Very groggy and grateful I was able to make my own pot of coffee.
Silver lined bandage tape guards against infection. Waterproof surgical (clear) wrap adheres to keep bacteria out and sutures dry. The tape looks like duct tape but it’s much softer. 
“3M Surgical Tapes—Choose the Correct Tape – 3M.com.” 2014. 2 Mar. 2016 <http://multimedia.3m.com/mws/media/202805O/surgical-tapes-choose-the-correct-tape-chart.pdf>
After Dr. Korentager removed the tape and clear wrap I took a slow, hot shower. Stepping out of the tub, water dripping down my body, I looked in the vanity mirror that spanned the length of the tub. I dabbed the towel across my chest and gently draped the damp towel over the tub. A bit achy, I sat down. Gingerly. Drying off, it was obvious that the whole left side of my chest was numb, from my underarm to the middle of my rib cage. I definitely had a bit of ape grossness goin’ on. My arm was way too sore to raise above my waist, much less over my head. I’d worry about shaving later, not a pleasant thought, too late to think about those vain beauty premises now.
Okay-y-y, time for inspection. Without tape and bandages securing my sutures, my heart pounded as I touched my skin, a deep red scar where my breast use to be. (No selfie. I just couldn’t do it.) My fingertips tentatively stroked the dark baseball-stitched line left by the sutures. The scar felt healed enough, oddly numb. I was expecting pain and horrible tenderness and was a little surprised it didn’t hurt at all. In fact, my skin had no pain whatsoever! My upper torso muscles were very sore and that hindered motion, is all I could tell I’d had surgery — the fact I’d had major surgery, my breast removed, hadn’t even begun to sink in. Light pricklies ran down my arms as I felt a tremor in my stomach. A brief shiver of nerves, I set my foreboding aside.
There I stood. I stared into the mirror. I didn’t cry. I merely shook my head in awe of my surgeon’s handiwork. I let out a big sigh, knowing full-well it would be a tumultuous task to return to normal. Like I said, I really had no idea what that would entail yet. Wondered how much this scar would fade compared to my C-section which hadn’t faded much at all, still ugly.
I was in total subsistence mode. I got choked up again and again but didn’t shed any tears. I guess I was on autopilot.
It took so much effort getting through each day. My days rambled into weeks without caring who did what, social media ‘friends’ and ‘likes’ would still be there… I was exhausted in my own little world. I was apathetic. Ed and my son and daughter-in-law took turns driving me to my appointments for several weeks since I was too medicated. It was unthinkable to drive. Way too painful. I got a lump in my throat… mirrors are not my friend.
Small triumphs and deep letdowns, all-the-while recouping my aching body and my sanity. You yourself must heal from breast cancer. All I can say is, you must let your instinct take you into healing mode, be an army of protection for yourself.
I needed my family so much to recuperate from the mastectomy. At first, tough bitch that I was I wanted to ignore that need, but their love and support was so comforting. I finally succumbed to it, to heal I surrendered into a cocoon with love as its thread. Nothing more to say.
WOMAN IN RECON 