4 posts tagged “breast reduction”

I have a post op appointment today.  I am hoping to be cleared for the gym, but suspecting that I will be told I need to wait another few weeks.  I have no real basis for this suspicion other then I am a negative Nelly when I want to be.  I also have an appointment with my primary care to discuss those little attacks I have been having.  Its funny, they are almost manageable as long as I don't think about them, if I think about them though....its all over.  Just typing the word attack I could feel a jump in my chest and I had to breathe it out.  I want to avoid taking anything today and that is part of the problem.  See my doctors are all at least an hour drive away.  This is because my amazing husband commutes to Sacramento from our little ole town and his insurance only covers the UC Davis health group.  So you can see why I wouldn't want to be doped up for the drive.  The only problem I have is that my first appointment is at 11:45 and my second is at 3:15.  Whatever shall I do with myself? 

I am thinking bra shopping.  Here in Ruralville our mall is really sad.  We actually aren't that rural anymore so I am not sure why our mall still sucks but it does.  So I was thinking that I would go to a real mall, look at some bras, maybe a dress to wear to this thing I am going to with Dave on Saturday and perhaps....a pedicure?  I have never had one, ever.   So I am thinking some pampering is in order and well, my feet are looking sad.  Also I hear that they have these delicious massage chairs to sit in while someone works on your feet, so it sounds like a good way to kill a few hours. 

I did go bra shopping yesterday at Target, but I was sadly disappointed.  They had 2 in my size and neither were comfortable.  I probably wont be able to wear an under wire for awhile but all the cute bras are under wire.  I want something exotic, something feisty, something that would fit over my head too.  Is that so much to ask for?  Listen bra industry, fat, large breasted, post op breast reduction patient moms want sassy bras too.  Get with it ok.  I did however manage to end the mourning period for a recent household loss.  My trusty toaster oven went crumbs up last weekend and I hadn't gotten out to get a new one.  While at Target I found one that matches my kitchen perfectly and has a ton of neat features, so although sweet Toasty is gone, Toasty 2 will ease that pain.  It has a timed cook feature so that I can finally stop wandering off and forgetting about what is cooking.  I can just set it and forget it.....isn't that an infomercial?  So anyways, those are my plans for the day and what I did yesterday.  Wish me luck.

I kinda like that title.  The days and weeks since my breast reduction have passed by quickly and pretty much the same.  I was in a drugged up fog the entire first week, and to be honest most of the second week, and part of the third.  Heading into the fourth week though, I am feeling better.  In the two weeks my kids had to live at Grandma's they were my main concern.  Were they missing me, did they understand why they were there, where they happy, had they hogged tied my parents and started a bonfire.  Nature parental fears when separated from the little sunshines of their lives.  They got to come home last week, and I wont lie, taking care of them is rough.  They both weigh twice what they should for the fact that they both resemble underfed orphans.  I swear they are either 100% muscle or they have solid lead feet.  How can a 4 year old who if they were long enough would wear an 18 month pant, weigh 40 pounds?  Seriously the waist the best fits her is the 18-24 month range, but the length is like a 5 or 6.  I gave birth to a giraffe.  On the Sunday before they came home, I had a MAJOR panic attack.  It may have been an anxiety attack but since there isn't an M.D. after my name I don't think I need to give an exact diagnosis.  I was laying in bed listening to Dave play with my babies and I felt a lump under my incision.  If I understand correctly these lumps are normal and could be something as simple as dying tissue that will just get re-absorbed into my breasts.  However I decided that I had obviously torn something.  I should mention here that at my last post op I was told that I was over doing it in a big way and that my kids probably wouldn't be able to come home for another two weeks.  EEEP.  Not only did I not want them gone that long, but I was afraid my mom's head would explode.  Don't get me wrong, my mom absolutely LOVES my children.  She has an especially soft spot for my son who I call her trained monkey.  Its just hard to take care of kids this age, and a lot of work. 

The panic attack started easy enough, I was feeling that lump and started thinking, oh shit, they are going to have to go back in to fix it.  Fuck, if they go back in to fix it, that puts me at the start of the healing process again.  So I went out to my loving husband.  Don't get me wrong.  Dave loves me very much, and hates to see me hurting.  However Dave was born with a minor birth defect, he was missing the ability to lie or be anything other then painfully honest.  This is good in the sense that I never have to worry about him lying to me unfortunately its bad it situations where a white lie wouldn't be bad.  So when I told him I thought I was having a panic attack the response I was hoping for was that he would take me in his arms, tell me everything would be fine and that there was nothing to worry about.  What I got was "Is that even possible with the amount of Valium in your system"  At this point it full on hit.  I tried to fight it but instead ended up in my bed bawling like a baby.  I got it all cried out and then told him that I thought that I needed to get out of the house for a bit.  That did help and that night I apologized because along with the inability to lie, Dave startles like a deer in the headlights.  Where I was over my attack, Dave was probably afraid to fall asleep for fear I would stab him or something in his sleep.  Poor guy, he never saw what hit him when he married me.  LOL.  He doesn't quite understand depression anyways, however after having friends with girlfriends who refuse to get treatment for their postpartum and seeing what they have to go through, he appreciates my acceptance that I am bat shit crazy and need meds.

The attacks scare me because after having been on anti-depressants now for roughly 4 years, it takes a lot to cause an emotional downswing that will actually bring tears.  I can still be angry and happy however crying is generally reserved for major issues.  Before my sweet sweet pills I would cry over commercials,  things I lost, movies, songs, breakfast, lunch, dinner.  I think you get the picture.  However after them I cried rarely.  It was reserved mainly for when my babies were hurt and/or sick.  In fact the last time I cried before last Sunday was May 27th.  I can't pinpoint the exact time, but I can tell you that I was standing next to my son's crib at Flagstaff Medical Center, they were trying to draw blood from him and he was so dehydrated that they couldn't get any, on the third or fourth attempt, my sweet angel looked into my eyes and just so sadly cried Mommy.  I bawled.  You would have to be a rock to not cry at that.  Hell the nurses were crying and that is their job.  So when I get that feeling coming on it terrifies me.  I am seeing my Dr this week to discuss it.  I am really hoping it is temporary, possibly caused by withdrawals from my pain killers, which I only take at bedtime now instead of several times a day.  I really don't want to go on a higher dose of Zoloft and I would hate to add another pill to the cabinet.  Not to mention that living with that on a daily basis would be annoying.

So in a nutshell that has been my recovery, as the haze of drugs clear from my system I am sure I will remember more and I will tell you what I remember, but I still have un-recovered memories from high school drinking binges, so don't hold your breath.

Waking up from the surgery was no where near as freaky as when I woke up from my wisdom teeth.  Maybe since I was staying the night they didn't just shoot me full of adrenaline like at the orthodontists.  Maybe they did but the extra 50 pounds absorbed it better who knows.  I do know that as opposed to being freaked the hell out I was lucid, knew where I was and could even answer questions.  I could hear the nurses saying to go get my husband but he was at work, or rather was supposed to be, one kept saying he was in the waiting room and I said no he is at work, so they went to check and sure enough he wasn't there...um someone might have mentioned he wouldn't be.  So I told them that there were instructions to call him after the surgery in my chart but instead they just asked me his number.  I actually gave it to them area code first, which if you ask me is sooo much more impressive then drunk dialing (which btw pisses Dave off to no end..don't do it, even if you want a ride home cause you aren't allowed to come home drunk remember, you sleep where you lay)  Anyhow, they called him and I was only half right, he wasn't in the waiting room cause he had taken his laptop out to the car.  He couldn't concentrate at work so he had come back to the hosputal and sat in the waiting room.  My hero.  The details from here are fuzzy, I said a bunch of stuff that the nurses laughed at and I apparently flipped Dave off a few times, for what I can't remember but I am sure he said something sassy.  He is like that.  My 3 hour surgery had actually lasted something near 5 or 6 hours.  I kept trying to sleep in recovery but my oxygen was low so they kept waking me up to tell me take deep breaths and pissing me off.  They were trying to find me a room and told me it was possible I would have to sleep in the hall, but thankfully they found me a bed.  I really honestly can't remember if Dave went up to my room with me, but I think he did. 

I was in and out and really tired when they took me up but then I got to my room where my roommates family had no respect for the person in the next bed and were loud as hell.  They had a little guy that kept running into my area, but that I didn't care about, I have kids I know they are nuts.  Around 8:45 her phone started ringing.  She wasn't answering and it rang non-stop until the time they turn the phones off.  I was seriously annoyed but to out of it to do anything.  In fact it took until 10 to realize I had no call button.  I asked my rude ass neighbor if she could call the nurse to which she ignored me.  So I looked around until I found the phone and called the operator, got transfered to the nurses station and then requested my nurse.  The night staff was pretty rude, which was a surprise because I have usually found the night staff to be the best group.  With both kids and when my son was in the hospital the night nurses were really awesome.  These nurses must have been given a crabby pill.  My nurse came in and he was an East Indian fellow who was very nice but unfortunately in my  drug filled STARVING state, I really couldn't understand much.  Did I mention nobody would feed me?  I will get back to that.  He came in and told me that he heard I needed him and that I should use my call button.   I told him I would love to but that I didn't have one.  He said uh yeah and I said uh no, this went on for a minute or so until I finally said, look I have one but I can't reach it look, LOOOOOK it is on the wall behind me.  I can barely move my lips to be telling you this, HOW AM I GOING TO REACH IT.  He finally got it, and apologized that it wasn't handed to me, which now that I am thinking, it may have been but a certain hubby that had been watching TV may have put it up on the hanger instead of on my bed.  Did you do that babe?  Did you?  Anyhow I asked the nurse for three things in this order, Drugs, Diet Pepsi, Food.  I got Vicodin, some lemon lime crap, I think Sierra Mist and some stupid graham crackers.  Also some water please.  Oh and is it hot to you, I am dying.  He agreed it was really hot and he would ask they turn the AC down a bit.  After that I slept.

I woke up around 1:30 or 2 and I was still sweating like a cow and my bed was wet.  Again I called the nurse.  I asked for a dry bed, drugs and food.  He helped me out of my bed and checked my cath to see if it was leaking, no it was just ass sweat.  He gave me drugs and more of those stupid crackers.  I guess I should mention that I had sneaked a few slim fast bars in just in case, cause I know how they starve you there.  However I couldn't really reach them with my cath in, I did eat one when Dave was still there to hand it to me, but lets face it when you haven't eaten in 18+ hours 200 calories isn't enough.  I knew I had another in my bag but I couldn't reach it and it was killing me.  The night was pretty much routine, drugs, drains, crackers.  I will spare you about the drains unless you want to ask me.  Finally thought it was morning which meant BREAKFAST.  Which I started asking for a 6.  Um, fat starving girl here food please.  First I had to see the doctors.  A whole team of them.  They came in at 7ish and removed my bandages and drains and cath and stuck me in my bra.  Pretty much my first course of action after this was to run to the bathroom, pee and look at my boobs. 

I stood there in front of the mirror, a little afraid of what I would see.  I had seen some after pictures online where in basically looked like someone beat the girl with a bat and stitched her up with a fish hook and fishing line.   Needless to say that I was terrified of what I would see, but I had to look.  So to opened my bra and.......

Finally after only a few days of waiting I got the call that I had insurance approval for the surgery.  OMG I couldn't believe it, not only that but they were booking appointments for early July and was sometime after the 10th good for me.  Uh that was freaking perfect.  So I again started calling and telling everyone and was just so happy I can still remember where I was when I got the call, cause you know 3 months ago was so long.  I was at my kids pediatrician's office where I spend a good deal of my time because my kids are walking diseases but that is another story.  So I start to patiently wait (read: call every four minutes) for my surgery date.  After I can't remember how long I started to panic that I didn't have a set date yet.  I started to look for different Dr's because I was irrational and freaked, even though I had originally been thinking that this wouldn't be happening till early fall anyways, suddenly I was dying to get a July date.  I was bitching to everyone I knew that my Dr took way too much time for this and blah blah blah.  Finally I got the call and the date was set.  I can't remember exact time frames but I think that in all I waited maybe two weeks.  Three tops one of which I was out of town on vacation.  The date was set for July 30th and was that acceptable.  Uh yeah that will be wonderful.  Date set all is good, now I can start to panic.

I really did have a fairly busy summer, for my standards at least.  We took a trip to Flagstaff for a week,  a week that would turn into vacation hell I might add.  Then I had my daughters birthday party, which was good except I decided to make her cake and really it was just sad looking.  Then I took the kids camping by myself for a week at the coast, my parents and siblings were there but Dave had to work.  After getting back from camping all I had to do was wait, wait and worry.  I think it was somewhere around July first I decided I would die during the operation.  I didn't tell anyone this until about 2 weeks pre-op so as not to ruin their time at the coast.  I started trying to cram in a ton of activities with my kids and family, since I would be dying soon and all.  I also started eating like a moose in heat, assuming that a moose in heat eats a lot, I know when I am on my period I eat a lot so it stands to reason I moose would too.  Anyways at some point I discovered Dryers chocolate peanut butter cup loaded ice cream along with Reese's peanut butter sauce ice cream topping.  So I gained roughly 10 pounds pre-op but to be honest it was probably closer to 15, since I didn't weigh myself till after surgery and I was up ten then. 

About a week before my surgery I wrote letters to my kids and my husband telling them how sorry I was that I died and that sort of thing.  I was that sure I was soon to be a corpse.  I stopped sleeping somewhere around three days pre-op and was just crabby.  I was nesting too.  Suddenly I just couldn't have surgery if my house wasn't clean.  You know for the wake to be held after my funeral I guess.  The day before my surgery I planned a full day of fun with the kids, mainly to keep my mind of my impending doom and to get in a few last priceless memories with my soon to be motherless kids.  Then it was time to drop them off at my moms and go home and panic.  I took a Valium before bed in hopes that I would sleep and I did sleep pretty good although I woke way to early.  We needed to leave here by 9:30 to get to the hospital by 11:00 for my surgery appt.  The actual surgery wasn't scheduled until 12:45 and I thought that I would be going nuts in that hour and 45 minute gap.  I woke up that morning and did a little more picking up.  Took a shower packed my bag and we were off.  We were in Dave's car which has no shocks BTW and I am pretty sure I didn't stop talking the entire way. 

When we got to the hospital we were totally lost, we got there with 30 minutes to spare, which we spent trying to find the entrance.  This place is a nightmare there are a million entrances and buildings and such.  I finally called from the car and they talked us in.  We get in to the info desk and she had to call around to find out where I was supposed to be and after going through the maze of hallways we found the surgery center.  We went to check in and were told to have a seat while the receptionist checked me in.  The nurse came out for me before the check-in was even finished and I was pretty thankful for that, because I would have chewed a hole in my face sitting there waiting.  I was let into a room filled with gurneys or beds or whatever you want to call them separated by curtains each with an I.V pole in front of it with the name of the patient on it.  There I was on a blank white paper was my name in sharpie.  I was given the gown, the be closed in the back which seemed odd considering they were working of the front but I did what I was told.  I was then assaulted by a medical team, who were all actually so very nice and calming.  They were all asking questions and sticking iv's in and taking temps and blood pressures and such.  Every minute someone would ask if the Dr had marked me yet and I would say no.  Dave sat there through it all not, passing out when the did the IV or anything.  He was awesome.  Then finally the Dr came to do the markings and Dave left to go get some work done.  He was told it would be a 3 to 4 hour surgery so he had time.  Last time he was told that was with the birth of my son and he had barely left for some food when the kid decided to make an escape attempt.  Anyways the Dr came to do the markings and this is just one of those times you get the stupid giggles, could have in part been the drugs in my IV too, but I found it all amusing and it kinda tickled.  I was really laughing pretty hard.  Then they stuck a mask on my face and I started to go down, not real down. The gas they were pumping through was really itchy, I kept taking the mask off to itch and the nurse said oh that is really itchy sorry...um figured that out thanks.  They took me into the O.R. and I remember asking, is this the O.R. or a storage closet, the nurse said I was funny, and that was it.  Fade To Black