It is day 3 post mastectomy, and I have remained for the most part virtually pain free during this whole process. Who would have guessed you could lose a few body parts, have their new junior varsity replacements inserted behind the chest wall pectoralis muscle, and have a little bit of cadeavor tissue added for good measure and still only have short bouts of minor pain episodes.
This has been of course possible due in no small part to the involvement of some very good narcotics. For the first 3 days I allowed myself just as many of those glorious little white pills as I liked. I would pop 2 little white oxycodones from the brown bottle with the tamper proof lid sitting never more than twelve inches from my swollen fingers. As most overly good things, this relationship had to end starting today. Although they controlled pain, they also induced a perma-buzz that filled my head with clouds and induced constant sleep. We had to break up, even though it was a sweet whirlwind relationship. The reality is if I didn't start this break up, stating clearly it was me not them, the medical community would indeed force us to part ways amicably next week anyway. Moving on is inevitable. My new friend is the slightly less ominus little buddy advil.
Because every relationship, even short lived ones leave an impact of some sort on your psyche why would my little white pills be any different? Today I started feeling like eating again, and by lunchtime, I was rather filled up. The food was going down easier, but wasn't vacating the premise shall we say. Both my dad and the Muffin man were sent on two separate drug store missions for digestive clearing agents.
By early evening the children were fully engaged and watching me eating prunes while chasing them with a cocktail of fruit juice miralax. They couldn't help themselves but giggle uncontrollably as the Muffin Man hopped in the car yet again for bigger guns at the local pharmacy. It has become very clear to me why my children have truck driver fascination with potty humor, I blame him for this obscene fascination in otherwise proper little girls.
Around 7pm the fam was watching me gulp grape flavored magnesium citrate. Everyone had helpful suggestions on how to chug the horrid tasting syrup. It was not lost on me, as I suggested that the children be put to bed, that this might not be the healthiest of family group activites, and yet my children also like to watch as I milk the post operative drains as well so, oh well. Welcome to the new normal.
Tonight I will sleep, in the morning pain ball will have run dry and I can pull the tubing out from under my skin. Anything to beat the post operative boredom around here.