Thankful to Live in the Now

So, today I am completely unprepared.  I have no post so I am slapping one together!  Sorry! 

I am blessed and try to be thankful every day.  Life can change in an instant and it is over too quickly.  This year, I am especially thankful for modern medicine.  We are lucky to live in an age where so many things can be "fixed" or prevented.  Of course, when something goes wrong for you or someone you love, it seems like we haven't advanced enough.  We feel anger over what the doctors can't diagnose or fix because, with so much they CAN do, it's hard to accept the limits.  But just think, when we take our kids to the doctor and its strep, there's a part of the mom-brain that thinks, "Yes!" Because we know that 24 hours of medicine will make them feel better.  Only 100 years ago (not that long ago) strep/scarlet fever was a terrifying diagnosis.

I always tell my children that we are as lucky to live WHEN we live as where we live.  A while ago, I picked up a book from the library for my son.  The title was How They Croaked- The Awful Ends of The Awfully Famous. It seemed a good, grisly way to trick a boy into reading.  A few days later I asked, "Learn anything interesting from your book?" I thought he would list some historical demises but his answer surprised me.  He said, "I learned that I'm happy I live when there is pain medicine!"  Me too!  And anesthesia and antibiotics and penicillin and insulin and blood drives and sterile instruments....  I could just keep going.....

I'm also thankful for preventative medicine.  Because, no matter how far we have advanced, everything is easier to address the earlier it's caught.  So all of you men who never go to the doctor- get your butt there.  Just get a physical and all the tests for your age group.  And all you moms caught up in intensive childcare, the most important way to take care of your kids is to take care of yourself. They get a physical every year- so should you. No one likes mammos or paps or prostrate exams or any of the other disgusting things doctors do to us all. (I had to have a colonoscopy a few years ago.  I actually told the doctor that I wished he could dart me as I went for the paper, throw me in a sack in a van and then drop me on the lawn when it was all over.  That way I'd be able to look him in the eye and not know what he'd seen or done!) None of it's not fun but it's necessary...

How did this turn from thanksgiving to a finger wagging in your direction? I guess I am thankful for all of you and just want you all to stay healthy and safe! So I'll stop lecturing right now....

Before I started writing, I flipped back to see what I wrote last year at thanksgiving.  I am so forgetful that much what I was thinking about was on my last year's post.  At least I'm consistent! I'm linking it *here* because it still applies!

Hope your travels and turkey day are filled with joy and laughter!

Love, 

Heather

Still Boobs

Ok, I know I said I was going to stop posting about my surgery and I'm trying but I still have boobs on the brain.   I've been spending a lot of time at home for the past 6 weeks.  What else do I have to talk about? There's no one here to annoy me BUT me.  (And I can be really annoying!)  I am just starting to get back into the "real world" and will surely have something that's not boobs to rant about/muse over about next time...

So, now that I am getting out, I'm seeing people that I haven't seen in a while. Since before the "boob business".  And now I am wondering: Are they all trying really hard NOT to stare at my boobs?  I know that's what I've done (or tried NOT to do) in the past.  Inquiring minds want to know!  So now I'm going to be watching everyone.  "Eyes up here!"  (I should wear low cut shirts so I can yell, "Aha!" when eyes stray south. The old "boob and switch".)

But, to satisfy curiosity, it's not so exciting.  Which is actually VERY exciting.  We live in such a wonderful time, medically, that I don't look glaringly different than I did before.  Admittedly, things are a bit wonky still but I look more normal than I had dared hope. (And I still have a lot of settling/ healing and a future "tweak" to do.) Dressed, it's a non-event.  I look the same.  Probably better since my muffin top was relocated to higher ground.  I never really expected that thing to come in so handy.  I guess I can stop blaming the children for ruining my body.  If they hadn't, I wouldn't have had the extra dough to work with...  

Today, I am 6 weeks out and for about a week I've been feeling much more like a normal version of me.  Things aren't back to normal but, if I were a computer, it's more like a program running in the background.  Minimized while my normally scheduled programs resume.  Nice! I have the holidays ahead to but there is something else I am looking forward to.  Not having to see the plastic surgeon again until spring!  

In the hospital, every single doctor or nurse that saw me looked at and touched my girls.  But it was the hospital and seemed normal. (?!) But now, I'm still going to be groped every other week or so.  Now, the girls have been monitored for years.  But mostly by women doctors and techs.  Now, my plastic surgeon is completely professional and you can tell it's all just work for him.  But he's a boy and he's my age.  (Possibly a bit younger.) He sits on a stool while I stand in front of him.  With my shirt open. Again, he's completely professional. But it's still a bit weird for me.  

I sort of don't know what to do or where to look. (I'm always tempted to start whistling.) After man-handling the girls, I usually pull my gown shut because I'm modest.  But then I have a question.  So I open up to point to something.  Then close up while he answers.  Then have to open up again while he points something out.  I stand there flapping my gown open and closed like some weird flasher or pink gowned bat. Trying not to whistle. Or babble.  Awkward... It's my natural state.  I'm still waiting to outgrow it.  But at this point I think I should give up.  Or give in.  

Anyway,  I'm looking forward to keeping my shirt closed for the winter.  (Good thing- it's nippy out. <--  Didja see what I did there?  Hee-hee.)   I'm looking forward to not getting groped. (By men I did not marry.) And, for the first time in years, I'm not dreading my birthday and the spring.  Every year since I turned 40, my birthday had brought me closer to my mother's diagnosis age.  It signaled the time to schedule my annual MRI.  And twice to biopsies of suspicious areas.  (Though I am grateful for the last biopsy, it pushed me to go ahead with this all despite my many, many fears.) This spring, can just. be. spring.  And boobs will have nothing to do with it!  Ahhhh.....


P.S. Suddenly got a flash in my head of Tina Turner singing, "What's boobs got to do with it..."

Messing with the Unconscious

This week a video went viral of a dance party in the OR prior to a woman's (who was also a doctor at the hospital) double mastectomy operation.  It looked fun but I didn't have the same experience.  At least I don't think so.  I really can't be sure...

This was my first surgery (and I promise this'll be the last post about it!) and my first time under general anesthesia.  It was weird.  I feel like I parted ways with my body for a while and wish I could know what happened while I was under.  Like I lost a day of my life.  Now, I go to sleep for about 8 hours every night and lots of things happen while I'm sleeping.  But not to me.  I am in the same place when I wake up and all of my parts are there.  This time I was asleep for 8 hours and a lot of shit went down when I was sleeping! It's hard not to wonder EXACTLY what took place.

The morning of surgery, I was very tense but hanging in there.  I met the anesthesiologist and head nurse and they told me what was going to happen on their end and started my IV.  They explained that after we went into the OR they would ask me those repetitive questions- what's your name, what are you here for, like they had already asked me 50 times.  I was ready.  I knew my name AND what I was there for! This is a test I can ace! Or not...

Before walking away, the anesthesiologist gave me a groovy hat to put on and said he'd give me a little something to help me relax.  Awesome!  I put my hat on thinking, "Ah this is working already." I laid back and looked at the nurses cart.  Suddenly, I thought, "Whoa- this is strong!" as all warped and faded to black.  

Next thing I knew J was waking me up in recovery.  At least that's what he said.  But I refused to believe the poor guy.  I said he was lying because I clearly hadn't even gone to the operating room!  I was supposed to be asked more questions. As far as I was concerned, if that didn't happen nothing had happened. I have only partial, vague memories of it all but I remember It was hard to talk and I couldn't open my eyes.  I couldn't be convinced that it was over until I heard my friend B's voice.  I knew she was going to be there later in the day when it was over.  I didn't believe my poor husband but I believed her.

But there's lots of stuff that I don't remember.  I was told that I said I was really high.  I insisted that I was sliding off the bed.  I asked how "they" looked. I said that I was underwater. (That I understand at least, the feeling that I couldn't surface.) And more.  It's disconcerting to think about saying things while YOU aren't really there. (Or at least it seems that way.) And it made me wonder about the before.  Did they intend to knock me out? Im pretty sensitive to that kind of thing.  When he came back was he all, "Ah shit. I did it again." Or more importantly -DID it actually knock me out?  I was sure that it did but what if I'm wrong? Maybe I was still "awake" but I just don't  remember. Maybe I did answer questions. OR do something stupid like streaking in the pre-op. 

If I WAS awake... were they messing with me? (Like when my college roommate would talk in her sleep and you could ask her questions?) Call me unprofessional but if I was the nurse I'd be asking my patients, "Do you want to play Truth or Dare?", "What's the worst thing you ever did.", Or, "The doctor needs you to repeat this. 'One smart fellow he felt smart, two smart fellows they felt smart' and so on. Make sure you say it very quickly." I'd like to imagine that I danced all the way into the OR with my arms around my new besties slurring, "Did I tell you I love you guys?! You're the best! No, you are!" And that they all thought that I was soooo awesome that they took special care to make sure all went well and that my new breastesess would be awesome. 

But, I'd really like to imagine that I said something wonderful to my husband in the recovery room instead of assuming he was messing with me.  I recently saw this video (click here) of a guy in recovery  who couldn't believe how lucky he was when he found out that he was married to the hottie he was talking to.  I wish I'd said something like that to him instead of, "J' accuse!"  Well, thanks to revisionist history, I can tell myself that our senses' of humor made me think that he was tricking me. And that he wasn't offended, knowing that I wasn't in my "right" mind.  I really hope that me telling him how awesome he is, now when I am totally "sober", is more meaningful. 

Curious Reflections From My Pink Recliner

Soon I am going to have to talk about things other than surgery and recovery! But since thats all that's going on for me right now you're stuck with it...

Trot Those Kids Out...

One night, a couple of days after I came home from the hospital, the kids had come upstairs to my bedroom after school and then again after dinner to hang out.  They were sweet and funny and so charming.  After they went back down to do homework and be with their grandparents, I got a little emotional.  (Lack of sleep and being overwhelmed.) I was all, "Oh my God, these kids are so wonderful. I love them so much.  They are such awesome people. We are so blessed!"  Though I am not so emotional about it, I do usually feel this way about them.  Except for those times I want to throttle them.  (Which happens often enough in the day to day!)

I realized that parenting is all the magical wonderfulness that you dream it will be WHEN you don't actually have to DO the parenting.  My in laws (and J of course) were feeding them, driving them, overseeing homework, breaking up the fights and doing all the dirty work.  I just got to relax in my chaise lounge (read: groovy pink, rented, vinyl hospital recliner that someone probably died in)  like a baroness.  I felt like all those books where the governess just trots the progeny in after dinner to perform acts of grace and charm.  Then shoos them away so the baroness can entertain guests. (Or in my case, watch reruns of Big Bang.) How wonderful!

The next night, I was telling the eldest how much I loved her as she was leaving the room.  And I decided to share my theory and how I was so charmed by them all.  On her way out she said, "Don't worry we'll fix that soon enough!" Now that I'm up and about I'm wondering, does anyone know where I can find a governess?  Cheap?

Oxycodone

My last day in the hospital, I was moved from ICU to a regular floor and my pain pump was taken away.  (So sad.) They started giving me Precocet.  I had C-Secs and had had it before but had forgotten the questions that go along with taking it.  Everyone becomes very interested in your bowels.  What are they doing? What have they done recently?  There is no dignity in the hospital. Ack- I am very open about lots of things but this?  I'd rather everyone think my waste by-products are daisies and sunshine.  But, because Percocet slows "everything" down, they have to monitor the situation and prevent a, let's say "work stoppage". (I was tempted to write a Code B---- but didn't want to be crass.  I'll let YOU fill in the blanks and be the crass one!)

So, they plied me with other pills to counteract the slowdown and sent me home with instructions to "watch it".  When I got home and it came time that I needed a pill, I looked at the prescription bottle.  I knew that Precocet was  Tylenol with a kicker but, call me obtuse, I never realized that it was Oxycodone.  I had a big, HUH? moment.  On the news, we are constantly hearing about people doctor shopping and addicted and holding up pharmacies for Oxycodone.  I was shocked that this was it.  While it made me tired, it wasn't so great. Maybe because it was 1-2 per dose and I only took 1.  (Maybe I should've taken more for the grooviness BUT I only took one because I was worried about, you know.)

Anyway, it got me thinking...  Are all these addicts dangerously constipated?!?!  On the news, they always talk about the Oxcodone that was stolen. By I'm wondering, are they also stealing laxatives? Or, eeww, enemas?!?  Holy Cow!! Maybe that should be something that they talk about in the HS drug programs? I think that would be a good way of deterring kids from trying it.  "Hey kids, before you dip into Granny's medicine cabinet, let me tell you something." and finish with, "So the next time you're stealing someone's pills, make sure you take the Ex-Lax and enemas too!"  I think that might make at least one kid think twice...

P.S. I know the hard core people are snorting it but wouldn't it do the same thing no matter the delivery system? Could it be they are not so desperate to get more because of the high?  Maybe it's needed to ease the stomach cramps?  Well- that would be a vicious cycle.  How lovely would it be if we could cure all those addicts with a Prune Clinic....