Yesterday, I saw my plastic surgeon for my three-week post-surgical checkup. He is pleased with my progress, and...
has lifted my restrictions.
Here's a short list of the stuff I can do:
- Ditch the incline and the extra pillows
- Sleep on my side
- Go shopping for a sports bra
- Wait for my surgical tape to fall off
- Resume making dinner (kinda missed that)
- Unload the dishwasher (definitely didn't miss that)
- Feed the dogs
- Reach a little farther, lift a little more, but STOP if I feel a strain on my pecs.
- See the good doc again in six weeks. (Six WHOLE WEEKS between doctor visits. Woot woot!)
- Grocery shopping — but not alone; the bags are too heavy.
ON A SEPARATE NOTE: You may remember my post from two days ago entitled A Tale of Two Shannons. Here is an UPDATE ON SHANNON #1. She is six weeks out from her second exchange surgery and has been doing great. Her incisions are healed, her new foobs no longer hurt, she loves the look of them, and she is regaining her energy. Then Tuesday she discovered a red spot on one of her foobs. She saw her plastic surgeon yesterday. (In fact, she was in his waiting room when she responded to my post in the comments section.) Her surgeon suspects Cellulitis.
She was admitted last evening to the hospital, is hooked up to IV antibiotics, and is having surgery this morning to eradicate the infection and (hopefully) save her implant. I can't even imagine the terror she is feeling.
Of course that terror spills over into my own life and my own fears about my own healing process. As the majority of you out there in the blogosphere have experienced, once cancer strikes, all bets are off. Cancer is the ultimate game changer. We are never out of the woods. I thought Shannon #1 was out of the woods. I was hoping. But those woods, dammit, are filled with trenches and cliffs and branches straining out to grab your arm and pull you under.
Do I sound overly dramatic? Maybe. Don't care. My surgeon told me yesterday morning that I am a little paranoid. Damn straight I am! After so many surgeries to make things go right, you bet I'm paranoid that they can also go wrong. I've seen it happen to me, and those around me. I set my rose-colored glasses down long ago, along with my naivety.
UPDATE ON SHANNON #2 She is recovering from her recon re-do in her normal good-natured way: "I am in more pain than I expected but one part vicodin mixed with one part valium is a decent cocktail." That's my girl!
ON YET ANOTHER NOTE, my brilliant blogging pal ANNEMARIE of Chemo-Brain fame said something so purely honest and perfect Monday night in a #BCSM Breast Cancer Tweet Chat (which I can only participate in by reading the transcript, because I am so technologically unadvanced that I can't tweet and don't own a smart phone, but I digress.) Here are AnneMarie's pearls of wisdom:
"Cancer: The ultimate team sport and the loneliest solo journey."
Isn't that so true? Love it. Love her. SO thankful for my BC sistahs and this online community. BTW, if you are so inclined, please send some good thoughts/energy/prayers/wishes/vibes to the two Shannons; they could both use a break right now. Thank you. xoxo
To take part in the Wednesday Wordle Challenge, go to the Wordle website, and click on "Create your own." Type in whatever words describe how you're feeling. Use commas (not spaces) to separate words or phrases. Now hit GO. It takes a few seconds for the word cloud to appear. To see a different design, click randomize (or tweak it yourself using the buttons above the word cloud). Have fun! Then post your link in the comments section so we all can share.