My husband is attempting to read over my shoulder as I type, and as a result, I'm having a major typo problem. Like, seriously, a typo in every single word.
He just chuckled and left the room.
Maybe it's like stage fright, but with typing. My bladder and colon are both experiencing stage fright right now, BTDubs. This always happens after I have babies/after surgery (I never thought I would be one of those people who refers to things that always happen to her after her surgeries). My body really isn't sure that it's okay to pee or poop. At all. I have to give it pep talks. "Come ON, bladder. Nobody is looking. This is what you are made to do. You can do this. Just think of waterfalls. Think of sinks running. And ready...PEE!" And then nothing happens.
Um, kay, so...I had a meeting with the general surgeon last Monday, and then I had a meeting with the plastic surgeon Tuesday (I have a plastic surgeon, you guys!), and then I had my double mastectomy on Wednesday. Badda-bing, badda-boom.
My surgery was late Wednesday afternoon, which meant I was super-hungry and pissed by the time I was taken into the room where they cut into you and take away your womanhood.
It just occurred to me, via a helpful hint from Ben, that I'm having trouble typing because I am stoned. I also realized that I'm having serious trouble texting, as well. Neat.
Kay, so, apparently, it took maybe four hours? And when I woke up, my first inclination was to go right on back to sleep, but I fought really hard to stay lucid for a few more seconds. Long enough to ask, "My sentinel lymph node - positive or negative? Positive or negative?"
Quite honestly, I'm surprised I remembered what it was called. The lady, bless her heart, answered me straightaway: "Positive. They found cancer in your sentinel. So they took all your lymph nodes in your left armpit."
"Shit," I whispered, before drifting back off to sleep.
When I woke up again, my dear family and friends were in my room. All were blurry, because nobody knew where my eyeglasses were. Pooh asked if I wanted ice chips, and I greedily gobbled them down as she spooned them into my mouth. Nat and Pete were there for awhile, but had to get back home to their kiddos. Mom and Dad were there. Ben was there, obviously. Megs came a few minutes later. They all knew about my lymph nodes. That now I have to do chemo.
I did pretty well and probably repeated myself like a thousand times and told really stupid jokes, you know, the things you just DO when you're stoned. I've also been told that I'm very verbally loving. "I love you so MUCH, Ben. We were meant to find each other. Heavenly Father brought you to me..." That kind of thing.
After awhile, everyone ended up taking their leave, and it was me and Really Generic Blonde Nurse for the night. She was unremarkable. Nice enough. But the only thing I really remember about her is that I asked her about her shoes. I need some shoes that are good for your arches. I think it's time for me to buy nurse's shoes. On account of my plantar fasciitis. So she told me where she bought hers.
My butt kept falling asleep, so I managed to sleep on my side, alternating side to side. I was in quite a bit of pain, and it took awhile to get permission for something stronger in my drip line. I felt like someone was holding a curling iron against my ribs and burning them. Soon I got the good stuff. But I still couldn't sleep. I was seriously totally buzzed. I don't know if it was from my anesthesia or what.
I wasn't upset about being buzzed or anything. I was just kind of lying there, staring. Generic Nurse kept saying that she expected to see me sleeping, and I never was. Yep. I had that really stupid J. Lo song stuck in my head. I think it's called "First Love." Man, what a dumb song. And I think she has an ugly voice. But she is a good dancer. I will give her that.
I remember telling jokes to myself all night, and chuckling at myself, muttering, "Good one, Kar!" and then I would think, "Man, I should write that down..." but by then, the joke was gone with the wind. But the chuckles just kept on coming. I managed to entertain myself all night, which was pleasant.
Oooh, and the IV I got for this surgery - best one I have EVER had! Bar NONE. I've never had one go in so nicely or stay so painlessly. So thumbs up, IV lady.
So. Let me address the fact that I have no boobs at all. It's weird. I can feel all kinds of weird, displaced-seeming bone everywhere. And my skin is very itchy, from the pain meds, apparently. I also have weird things that look like marshmallows all over my upper chest. Apparently they are tethered to sutures to hold my for-now-flat-skin-stretcher thing in place. They can't start stretching my skin until they're done with chemo. I don't know when that starts or how long it will take. All I know is that we got an offer on our house this morning and that Ben is supposed to start work a week from tomorrow. This biz is about to get ridonk.
The marshmallows-with-strings-attached are also really itchy. They used the marshmallows to avoid dimpling of the skin, I guess? Not positive.
I also don't have...n words. But not those n words. N words that deal with female anatomy. Wink, wink. This came as an enormous shocker to me. My plastic surgeon told me the day before surgery that they were taking them, since they have cancer in them. I was like, "HOLD UP HOLD UP ONE SEC I AM GOING TO LOOK LIKE SOME WEIRD BARBIE OR ANDROID ROBOT WOMAN OR SOMETHING??" I was having a harder time with the fact that I wouldn't have n words than the fact that they were scraping my boobs off my body. They say that later, they can create n words with skin from my back and, like, tattoo it. I'm totally doing that. I'm not going to be this...sub-human person. I'm getting replacement boobs. And I'm getting replacement n words. Not that anybody but Ben or I will notice. But I want to feel like a human again. So I choose to get n's.
Can I tell you how hard it is for me to concentrate enough to type without making mistakes? This next sentence will be how I would have typed this whole entry. Ready? Okay.
I he some frinew domint of34 5o 5qk3 my ninow 5omo44o2 2hil3 I HL3P WOM3 O5H34 R4I3NEW YPQDIK.
I did not just make that up. This is a sign that it's time to wash my deformed body and go to bed. My sis Lex, was like, "You look skinny." And I said, "Of course I do. I don't have boobs. Boobs are made of fat." It's fun to feel skinny for a minute, even if it's in a place where one should never feel skinny.
Sorry if my stoned rantings have made you uncomfortable. I'm working on weaning off my pain meds stat and I'm excited about it. I hate not being able to concentrate. Or type.
Oh, one more thing. My left insert sometimes vibrates. Like it's calling to the mother ship. I kid you not. I can feel it in there, vibrating away.