Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I am five days post double mastectomy surgery. Time flies when you’re stuck at home! I have a post op appointment on September 30. Until then, I am left to my own devices to heal and eat everything pumpkin spice.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

This is my first post without boobs.

I have no boobs. So fucking weird.

I am so used to typing with those floppy blobs acting as a table for my snack crumbs. Now the crumbs fall and my stomach is the new table, catching on my quilt. I am flat-ish and both sides of my chest look different. Long stitched lines have replaced my nipples. There are holes in my body for the drains to slither out of me. Blood and other fluids collect in little plastic containers I have fondly coined “blood grenades.” They are my best indicator of healing. My drains are scheduled to be removed on September 30 unless I produce less than 30 cc of fluid within a 24 hour period. If that happens, I can call the office and get them removed earlier. My left drain (the largest breast but the one with no disease) most likely will get removed first and hopefully this week. Fluid has been looking pretty good and decreasing daily. Fingers crossed!

Drains SUCK. SUCK SUCK SUCK. They hurt. The actual breast incisions don’t really hurt, but the drains literally hang on by two pieces of string? Stitches? Some sort of material. If you accidentally tug on the drain when you are taking off your pants to use the restroom, you are paralyzed for at least 20 seconds in fear and pain. I have to sleep on my back again so I don’t roll over onto them. They are the bane of my recovery existence. They are necessary but evil.

My chest doesn’t really hurt. Probably because I cannot feel half of my chest anymore. I don’t know how many lymph nodes were sacrificed to the breast cancer gods. I hope to find that out this week when I get the pathology back. I wonder how many were infected? My chest does feel tight though. When I try to lift my right side, my arm feels like it is sticky as it pulls away. I looked to see if there was adhesive there but I quickly realized the sensation I am experiencing is numbness. I have no feeling. It is the strangest fucking thing. But I try not to lift my arms too much because I am a human t-rex, with my hands required to stay by my side. I cannot lift heavy things, push, pull, or do anything useful really. The most I can do is pull down my pants. Am I capable of more? Yes. Should I do more? No.

Despite the pain, I am mostly fine, I think? I am not a restful person, so being prescribed endless amounts of Netflix and chill with my cats is really fucking hard. Combine that with needing someone to do things for me and I feel like a useless blob of tissue. I am VERY grateful to have so many people in my life who are willing to do the most basic of tasks for me like cooking and cleaning and rubbing lotion on my legs, but it is heartbreaking. This is all because of some chaotic DNA and the necessary act of saving my life. I have to constantly remind myself when I look down at my chest that this was all so I could save my life. What would you do to save your life? What would you do for a Klondike bar? I guess we know now that I would cut off my boobs for both. Still waiting on the Klondike bar, though.

Surgery feels like eons ago. I don’t remember much and I cannot figure out if it is because of anesthesia, chemo brain, or a coping mechanism. I remember before surgery that the nurse put the IV in my right hand and the surgeon said it was the wrong hand so the anesthesiologist said she would move it to the left hand during surgery. (Hand IV’s hurt so bad, so I was glad I would not be awake to get re-poked.) I woke up and the IV was in my left foot. How about that for a plot twist! And when I woke up I remember the nurses yelling at me to breathe. Oh and I remember the anesthesia burning in my arm as it entered my blood stream. Like it really hurt. I asked the nurses if it was supposed to hurt so much and they said yes and I was out like a light. Sweet little memories.

I woke up with a bandage covering my incisions and Friday we removed it for my first shower. I cried when I saw my body. I look like a chicken cutlet. It was jarring for a few moments and then I was fascinated by what had taken place. This resilient vessel has endured so much. The tears were a mix of sadness and relief that I had hiked my Everest and made it to the top and I could come down now. The anxiety and pain and the fear of the unknown were burdens I have carried with me for so long. You can know everything (about what is to happen) and still know nothing at all. The last 7 months have been incredibly difficult. I had spent this time “training” and “preparing” for this surgery, or at least that is what I told myself. And now it is over. I can tell you that there is not a lot you can do to train or prepare for this kind of journey. You can talk to every survivor and hear their stories and it may not be enough to be a comfort in your nightmare. Cancer is a hell like that. But I can finally let the burdens go. I can breathe. I can mourn. I can begin to heal.

Well, assuming there is not cancer in my spine. For now, we operate as if there is not.

PHOTO INTERMISSION!

I appreciate the endless love texts and offers to drop off food. I am so grateful that I don’t have to do much right now so I can focus on healing and resting. You all have created that space with me with your generosity. Small note: I have noticed I am getting a little overwhelmed, so if I don’t respond, it is not personal. I just am having a hard time and need time alone to process and play Animal Crossing.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Tom Odell.

“Take my mind
And take my pain
Like an empty bottle takes the rain
And heal, heal, heal, heal

And take my past
And take my sins
Like an empty sail takes the wind
And heal, heal, heal, heal”

– Heal, Tom Odell