Five days post-op, I had a particularly difficult night caused by meds on an empty stomach which then couldn't accommodate the meds. I will admit, I am not a good nausea person. I didn't experience it with child bearing and I didn't have it with chemo, so I was not prepared to be up all night wretching like a drunken sailor with nothing in my tummy to lose. My husband refers to this humbling act as bowing to the porcelain Buddha.
At dawn I crawled from my bed to my chair, there to spend the day fighting to regain some strength. I sat gingerly sipping and nibbling enough to accommodate one huge foul tasting green antibiotic capsule, one giant chalky white pain killer and a tiny anti-nausea tablet, remnants of nightmares surfacing and their accompanying confusion. I faced the day without expectation, one foot in front of the other, or in this case, one pill. I feel a little like Alice in Wonderland. Just what did Lewis Carroll experience that led him to write the great Alice stories? I met many hookah-smoking kaftaned characters on the streets of Morocco. 1971. Off topic.
My weakened state meant postponing my doctor visit as I could not face a 4 hour round trip drive. I had quite forgotten my husband's nursing style, he is a Hoverer. Not wanting to omit any possibilities, he recited a litany of lunch and beverage options. Choices require some energy. I had none. Just thinking about some of his offers triggered a gag reaction. Having been at his complete mercy before, from the dressing of my wounds, to the exposed state of feeling bald and naked, this time I've felt myself less willing to give up my independence.
Somehow, I ate sufficiently to grow strong enough to make the trip to Phoenix. Yesterday we saw the doctor, anxious for an assessment of the strange assortment of body lumps. Dr. Mosharrafa was very pleased and explained there is still some swelling and that the "extra tissue" under my arm is from my very healthy back tissue. He took a little bit extra to assure a good blood supply and it will be sculpted out on the final surgery. I don't quite understand it but "sculpting" sounds painful. He is extremely satisfied that the tissue has grafted well onto my chest wall. So we leave satisfied, too. There is no substitute for hearing your doctor is happy with your progress.
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