Not So Fast

I think I lied when I said the worst was over. Getting my "expanders" blown up with saline hurt like the dickens. Yesterday, I wanted to rip these fake expanding metal-ish boobs out of my body. They hurt, were pulling my skin, burning my incision, aching my back, crushing my ribs, taking my breath away. Lying around makes it worse, but there's nothing to do, but something, anything is good. Do something. Otherwise, it's turning just right, stay there, don't move, ouch, shit, don't, move, that way, drugs, ow ow, more drugs, more House Hunters, repeats of Real Housewives, get up and get some Oreos, cake (I am eating everything and anything during recovery, to gain weight, to feel better, and have fallen back into my sugary ways with such gusto, it's remarkable I ever went without – a glutton for sweet punishment). I would like an epidural and am really not sure why only laboring women get to have them. Why should they get such special treatment? Child birth was a cake walk, which sounds very delicious right now. And speaking of eating, as of today, I've ingested 40 Hydrocones and 20 Dilaudids, which is stronger than morphine apparently. Am I wimpy about pain? I’m kind of a baby, but seriously, I didn’t even take drugs after NJ was born. I’m actually sick of taking drugs. I just want to get back to normal, feel normal. There is light at the end, and it looks exactly like big, glorious, boobies. Can’t wait to get naked. Speaking of which, I think this summer calls for my first one piece since I was 12. This J. Crew get-up is super cute.

Post-Op Perks

People always say how adaptable children are, but it's still amazes me to see it in the flesh. NJ has become completely attached to Jon, and is barely bothered by my inability to attend to her in the way I did before. When she does reach for me to pick her up, I sit down on the floor and she crawls into my lap. And she's gotten into the somewhat annoying and adorable habit of grabbing my hand and dragging me everywhere. I'll take what I can get. My husband is now the lucky recipient of diaper duty, whining fits, dirty hands and faces, naps, baths, bedtime and thousands of kisses. Not to mention breakfast, lunch, dinner, dishes, laundry, sweeping, cleaning, and the list goes on. Maybe surgery isn't so bad after all.

On the Up-and-Up

I took a shower yesterday for the first time since surgery. I know you're doing the math in your head, but I'll just come out and say it: It's been 10 days. Jon told me I was stinky, and I asked what I smelled like, and he said blood. Gross. If that's not an indication that it's time to wash the funk off, I'm not sure what is. I've been nervous though, to move, to get my wounds wet, to see myself naked.

And, well, I just got my drains taken out, along with the nasty pus grenades that were attached to them. Jon and NJ went to the park and saw farm animals, one of which was a pig with 20 suckling piglets. That's how I felt. Like an immobile pig with nursing babies attached to me. These things made me feel faint every time Jon had to empty them for me, two or three times a day. He is not squeamish in the least bit, and luckily, I got these gnarly things out faster than the two weeks they'd said I would be lugging them around.

In true Hopkins form (I always meet someone awesome), a woman overheard me talking to the receptionist about my drains. "Would I be getting them out today?" I asked. The stranger could tell I was nervous and approached me. I had just been noticing how lovely she was, too. Super tall, striking light aqua eyes. And smiling. Love that. I noticed her 'do and thought "I hope I look that cute with short hair." She said she was a few weeks farther along than I was and the drains were nothing to worry about. She confessed she'd been so nervous too, and hoped I'd get the same nurse she'd had. Soon after we chatted, the nurse called my name and the woman said, "Oh good, that's her." Yes!

I told the nurse I was more nervous about the stupid drains than anything I'd been through so far. I mean, it is a frightening prospect. Ripping out something that's attached, somehow, to the inside of your body. Jon said, "You just had your boobs chopped off and you're worried about these little ass drains." Perspective, perspective. Thank you love.

She told me my boobs were beautiful. I didn't know if she was telling the truth or not because I was too scared to look. But, yesterday, when it was time to shower, I did. Beautiful is hardly the word that comes to mind. She said to remember this is just the beginning. They won't look how they do now. And, I know that. But, I felt upset at seeing them, mostly because it really hit me what I've been through, am going through still. It's hard for it to sink in, even now. I doubt it will ever. It's sort of like when someone you love dies. It never seems real, even years later.

But, things are on the up-and-up. There is more to come, but the worst is over. Thank you God. Thank you beautiful friends. Thank you my amazing family. I couldn't have done any of this without you. And, thank you for the cards and gifts. I adore them. They always make my day, make me smile, and mostly make me feel loved – the best gift of all.

6 Weeks

I had a five-minute-freakout today. The enormity of what’s going down tomorrow morning is hardly lost on me. But, besides the few-and-far-between mini breakdowns – when I just feel sadness, nothing else – I feel so strong, so well really, and like God has been preparing me for this very moment my whole life. 

Six weeks from now, on May 12, I will be officially recovered. It will be springtime, the yellow daffodils in front of my house will be in bloom, the new green grass will be freshly mowed, NJ's unsteady trot will be a fast and furious gallop, these little sprouts on my head will begin to look a little something like real hair, I'll love my husband 6 weeks more than I do today, and I’ll be cancer free. I just know it.

When I fall asleep before my surgery, this is what I'll dream of – NJ dancing, twirling, falling on the bed. 

The Last Hurrah

Jon and I had a romantic getaway in Charlottesville at the Clifton Inn – our last rendezvous with “the girls.” It was dreamy, except for the part when I ate too much pork belly and oysters, drank entirely too much champagne and subsequently got sick. Not so sexy. But, that was merely a minor detail. The rest was perfect. Our room was a cozy hideaway and the service was impeccable. It didn’t hurt that there were chocolate-covered strawberries and several treats (compliments of my sweet sis), soft music and dim lighting awaiting us on arrival. Just what the doctor ordered.

Happy Anniversary: Postdated

 

Mom and Dad,

Thank you for staying married for 42 long freakin years, even when everything told you to move on, go another way, give up, give in. Your marriage alone, your commitment, loyalty, love for one another, dedication to our family, has left an impression on me that is more profound than any amount of money, gifts, stories and lessons, discipline and rules, guidance or advice (although those things are cool too.) No one ever said marriage was easy, but yours is what it's supposed to be. Enduring, strengthening over time, loving in spite of it all, hunkering down and getting through, and rising up to meet at the end, better, stronger, shaped and curved, like driftwood floating on a rocky current, smooth, graceful and sturdy after it's all said and done, resting peacefully on the sand.

Surgeons and Husbands

My surgery is March 31st, and I'm kind of excited. Weird, eh? Truth of the matter is, I'm way more sad that my ass has disappeared than the fact that my boobs soon will be gone, too. I've never been a boob girl. Well, maybe a little, but my ass was always where it's at. I'm not sure that it will ever come back: It's hard to gain weight and eat healthy at the same time. Wow, what an epiphany. Isn't that what nutritionists have been telling us for years about losing weight. So simple.

Of course, I'm nervous too, about things like waking up, boobless, and what that will feel like – crazy, probably. I hope I don't have a breathing tube or other weird unnatural things that I'm conscious of. (Although I should probably start getting used to things of the unnatural sort – but let's face it; those will be supernatural.) The yucky drains post-op. I heard they can be the worst of it all. But, then also that they're only annoying. Mostly I'm worried about not being able to pick up NJ for 8 weeks. That breaks my heart a little. A lot more than getting new, awesomer boobs. And, let's face it, "the girls" have done me wrong. Now, off with your head!

Choosing a surgeon is like choosing a husband. You just have to ask: Do I trust this person with my life? It's strange how long it can take to trust someone we're dating but how quickly we offer up trust to someone who's cutting us open – just a few weeks really.

Anyway, I'm going to start eating 4 avocados a day, and hopefully, that junk will go to my trunk. For real. Dang. Oh, and I did have a cheeseburger the other night. Got to, once in a while.