I know people use the phrase "I feel like I have been hit by a mack truck" all the time. When I woke up from all of the anesthesia and medicine on August 29th, I really believed that I had been hit by an 18-wheeler. I looked down at my chest because I knew the grill marks still had to be imprinted on my chest. There were no grill marks, just my chest wrapped up like a mummy. Where breasts used to be - I was now flat. I was not allowed to unwrap the bandages for 48 hours, I so badly wanted to see how I looked - just how scary of a monster I would be - but I couldn't peek.
Nurses came in and out. They were very anxious for me to get out of the bed, walk around, and use the bathroom so that I could be released. It all seemed crazy to me - I had been hit by an 18-wheeler and they wanted me walking around and released that morning. A chipper little physical therapist came in to show me the exercises I needed to be doing over the next few days to aid in the healing and prevent lymphedema. I did not like her from the moment she entered the room with that gleeful little smile and acted cheerful. I was in no mood for cheer. She wanted me to raise my arms...SHE MUST BE CRAZY.I literally did not feel like I could move my fingers, much less my arms. And then she expected me to get out of bed - this must be some sort of joke. It was not. She made me get out of bed and move my arms. It took everything out of me just to stand up but I did it.
Another nurse came in to train Kevin on how to empty my drains. If waiting is the most cruel part of cancer, the drains are the second most cruel part of cancer. Basically drains are inserted into the surgical area to drain all excess fluid and blood. Tubing is put in at surgical site and then incisions are made on the side of your body where the tubing comes out and a bulb is attached which collects the fluids. The tubing is held in place by a stitch, a very painful, make you scream every time you move, kind of stitch.
Kevin's job for the next few days was to empty the drains every few hours and keep track of how much blood was coming out. Once the daily output became low enough, I could get the God-forsaken drains removed.
Before I knew it, they asked Kevin to go and get the car and they came in with a wheelchair to escort me out. I did not feel ready to leave the hospital, but they obviously thought I was. So home we went.
The next few days are very cloudy to me and I do not really remember much of those days...luckily. I was on some pretty strong pain meds and muscle relaxers. Kevin turned out to be an amazing nurse and made sure that I took my medicine and that my drains were emptied on schedule. I believe I slept for the majority of the next 48 hours.
When I woke up 48 hours later I was able to take a shower and remove the bandages. Of course, I could not do any of this alone, I could barely lift my arms. Thankfully, Kevin was there to help. I was so nervous about removing the bandages, I had no idea what things were going to look like underneath. We gently removed the bandages and I looked in the mirror and wept. I had looked at a million pictures on-line of post-mastectomy pictures but nothing can prepare you for seeing yourself. I made it into the shower and sobbed the entire time that Kevin washed me. I was sobbing because of how I looked and I was sobbing because my husband was having to wash me and I could not even wash myself. This was a new low. Kevin was so kind; he was more kind than I ever deserved. The shower literally took everything out of me and I went straight back to bed. I wanted to sleep. I wanted this to all be a nightmare. I never wanted to see myself in the mirror again. For now, I would sleep.
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