I'm here, I made it, surgery was successful and this blog post will be sponsored today by high street value narcotics. Overall, I probably wouldn't advise anyone to add this mastectomy life experience to their bucket list. It just wasn't up there with trip to Machu Pichu or seeing Stonehenge. Yet it seems to be shaping up as an integral part of my own personal bucket list in that there was great likelyhood that if I didn't embrace this one, my bucket list days might have run out before I would have liked.
My family and friends are letting me act like the Queen of England. Since the sitting on the throne bit has it's advantages, I'm rolling with it.
I do feel pretty darn bad for my little Olivia. When she saw me for the first time, she asked boundlessly and full of 6 year old happiness, "Mom you are home, can I give them both a big squish?" Perhaps she didn't sit still for the whole reconstruction conversation over the last few weeks. She took one look at my chest region and the poor thing was almost reduced to tears. Not enough squish for her. I had to explain again that squish will be a process. I offered to let her attend a doctor's appointment so she can see how the reconstruction will take place. She said she would consider my offer but I might have to encourage the girl's interest since they've both been giving me the hairy eyeball any time the topic of my 4 drains or soft needle pain ball comes up. I am trying to have them think of this early stage of recovery as advanced science class, homeschool style.
I'm formulating some good tales from the dark side this week. All about nipples coming up soon. For right now, I'm fine...the girls are fine, the muffin man is fine since I'm emptying my own drains and his personal contact with my blood is extremely limited.
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