(Warning...graphic post op images ahead.)
It's done.
My final surgery is complete.
I woke Friday morning feeling anxious. Everything irritated me and I was impatient and snappy towards my Littles when all I wanted to do was cuddle them. I was tired. Tired of everything to do with cancer. Tired of the mindfuck that comes with surgery. Anticipating it but worrying it would be cancelled again. Preparing for the inevitable frustration of waiting and the pain that follows.
Husband dropped me off at the hospital a little early so that the Jackman wouldn't miss out on his gymnastics class. I sat in the cafe courtyard for a while, soaking up the warmth of the late morning sun. That little bit of quiet time was just what I needed...feeling the radiant heat on my skin, thinking of everyone I loved, telling myself that I could do this, just a walk in the park.
Then it was a case of going through the motions, a routine I now had down pat. A game of twenty questions with the nurse; gowning up; waiting; moving to the holding bay; cocooned in warm blankets; waiting; twenty questions again; anaesthetist tapping my arm to find a vein; waiting; surgeon graffitiing my chest; waiting and finally into the ice cold theatre. Stretching out on the table like a slab of meat on the butchers block, mask coming down on my face and then....black nothingness.
I have no memory of recovery, nor of the several hours afterwards. Eventually the pain crept into my foggy mind and woke me. It was 9pm, it was dark outside but the room was bright with light. Peeking under my gown I saw skin covered in flamingo pink betadine, always an assault on the eyes. Then my right breast, swollen and bruised but seemingly more even than before. Skin stretched taut, no longer puckered from radiation. Relief. A quick call home to say I was ok and then a night of sleep broken by hourly obs.
Morning...a change of shift, new nurses coming in and out. Head heavy with painkillers, dozing on and off, sun rises. Out of bed...tentative steps to the bathroom...wincing as the bloodied gown and bandages around my waist are removed. Then the shock of bruises revealling themselves. I hadn't anticipated so much. I hadn't thought about the aftermath of the liposuction. My poor, poor body. A long shower to wash away the gaudiness of flamingo pink. Slow work getting dressed. Blood still oozing from under dressings. Body aching and fragile.
Surgeon stops by to check his handiwork, encouraged with how the surgery went. I am so grateful for this softly spoken man who took away my cancer and rebuilt a most beloved part of my body. A few more hours of waiting, dozing off now and again, head still heavy with painkillers. Then home, home to my boys for cautious cuddles and rest.
This is it. I am done. My surgeon said we'd know in a few months if any more surgical "tweaking" is required but I know that I won't be needing it. I was never seeking perfection. Close enough is good enough for me. I am satisfied with what I have and I know that I won't be putting my body through any more surgery. I am so grateful that my treatments have given me a future. Now it's time to nurture this body back to health.
Time to rest and let the healing take hold.
xx Em
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