Here I am, ladies and gents--a week and 4 days out from Boobmageddon. I'd say I fared quite well.
On Friday the 28th, we arrived at the hospital at 6am. Shortly after checking in, I was brought back to 'pre op,' where I received 2 lovely injections into the killer boob. The injections were prefaced by a warning that the first shot would hurt...a lot. The nurse talked to me for a while about how much that first injection would hurt--because it's a big needle, it has to go to the center of my breast...and so on. She said the second shot is just superficial, with an itty bitty needle, and it won't hurt at all. Great. So I was already about to pass out before the first shot. I just kept thinking, 'This will be nothing. THIS is nothing..." The nurse said as soon as she 'stuck' me, she'd count backwards from 10, and when we got to 1 it would be over. SO...deep breath...stick...10, 9...i don't feel a thing...8, 7...waiting...6, 5, 4...really...i feel nothing...3, 2, 1...over! I didn't feel a darn thing! She couldn't believe it. On to the little needle. It was so tiny and skinny it was laughable. She stuck it in, and HOLY SHIT. That little thing burned like a mother f$%*er. I don't know if the lady was trying to use reverse psychology or what, but that itty bitty needle hurt like hell. Then, I had to wait...for 2 hours.
My family was allowed to come back and visit me, which i was happy about. I really wasn't nervous...i still had the feeling that 'this really isn't happening'--which, honestly, I still have today. Even boobless. Before we knew it, it was time for me to go. The nurse came in and put something in my IV...then it gets REALLY fuzzy. I remember being wheeled into the OR by a male nurse...i remember going through the halls. I also remember that I didn't have a cap on (and that I was supposed to). I remember going through the big, double doors...and i remember saying, "Well, THIS isn't very impressive." Then I woke up to a nurse saying, "That's it! You're in recovery--great job!" The first words out of my mouth were, "Where's Chris?" She had to ask me a few times because I was having a hard time talking (because my mouth was so dry from the tube). I finally got through to her and she went to get him. *He only stayed for a minute, then they moved me up to my room and he met me there. I really don't remember much of that first day at all.
On Saturday, they decided to feed me. Which I was happy about. But it was a liqud diet--in case the medicine made me puke. Which it did not. I never felt queasy at all. Really though--2 thumbs up for St. Luke's chicken broth. That's some good shit. It was hard to eat though--I couldn't lift my arm, so Chris had to feed me. Then we got smart and just put a straw in my broth. :) Saturday afternoon, they removed my catheter. I wanted that thing out, but afterwards, decided that I should have rallied to keep it in. Because with it OUT, i had to get out of bed. Getting up was difficult, to say the least. Even with Chris' help, it felt like meat ripping off a bone. That's the most accurate descriptor I can come up with. It felt like meat ripping, then my sternum with catch on fire. It was absolutely awful. It still hurts like that with certain movements. That day, everytime I moved, I'd sing, "Meat RIPPER!!"
Sunday, we got to go home. I was absolutely ready to get home to our house. The ride was okay. I brought a pillow to put between me and the seatbelt. I'm pretty sure Chris wanted to kill everyone on the way home. He was so worried that he would hit a bump or make a quick stop and it would hurt me.
...and i'll have to finish later. It hurts to type--holding your arms at a 'typing angle' is rather difficult--who knew?
*Note: Chris read this and corrected me. I was in the recovery room for THREE hours before they wheeled me into my real room. And, my dad even came in to say 'bye'. Jeesh. I really can't remember crap.