Wednesday, August 20, 2014

I've got a little bit of boobs!!

Sorry, you guys.  That was a seriously dirty trick, to write this very, very dark post and then to disappear for a few days.  Yikes.  Bikes.  I didn't mean to.  I really didn't. 

Kay, so.  It's safe to say I moved Dylan's medications to a completely different counter in a completely different area in our kitchen.  Because first I had that high, high, high, and then I cried for like 5 hours, and then I wrote my dark post, and then I was consumed with this really scary, really horrible panic attack.  That's what I think it was.  I described it to my sister, who has had them, and she was like, "Yep."  Whoa.  That was really horrible.  I feel so badly for anyone who has chronic anxiety.  What an awful feeling.  I was really paranoid and really scared about the dumbest crap.  Like, I couldn't sleep, right?  Because, you know, I had accidentally ingested speed.  So I was lying there next to my mom (she spent the night with me, which was so sweet, but then she immediately fell into a deep sleep beside me in bed with her oxygen mask hissing blissfully), and I'm staring at her, like, "Dude!!!!  Now I'm lonelier than ever!  Everyone's asleep!  I'm all alone!"  And then it quickly went to, "What if I never sleep again?  If I can't go to sleep, I can't heal!  And then I'll die!  I'll die because I couldn't sleep!  Bwahahahahaha....."  (That is the crying "bwahaha" and not the laughing "bwahaha."  I was doing some ugly crying at this point.)  And I was pacing all around, and I was just fa-reaking out.

Finally, at 4:30 in the morning, I shoved my mom's shoulder. 

"MOM.  I CAN'T SLEEP.  I CAN'T SLEEP.  I NEED YOUR PINK PILL."

Ahhhh, mom's pink pills.  The Fabled Ones.  My mom has RLS really, really badly.  I feel badly for her.  I mean, I have it and have to take medication for it, but this woman... her legs drive her crazy.  So she has these pink pills that calm the restless legs but also kind of knock her out.  We've all learned to accept the fact that, at 9 p.m., she's either standing and shuffling and kneading at her legs, or she has passed out in the middle of the movie in the theater.  I feel badly for her.  I really do.  Restless legs is AWFUL.

So anywho, once, my parents and Ben and I went out to New York to visit Beads.  And my restless legs were just off the charts.  And Mom is like, "Do you want to take half of my pink pill?" because my RLS pills were packed.  And I was so desperate for my legs to be calm that I was like, "Well, Nancy Reagan says not to do drugs, but...okay.  I'll try it just once.  To be cool." 

You guys probably think I'm a total drug abuser.  I'm not.  I just...needed not to be doing a tap dance on the ceiling above my seat while my head and upper body were on the chair.  Because that is what happens in the car on long drives when my legs go crazy.  So I took Mom's half of a pill, and dude, it made me sick as a dog.  I barfed for like 6 hours in the airplane toilet.  It was horrifying.  Awful.  Awful. 

Mom's pink pills are so famed for their potency that, when my grandpa was dying, and hospice hadn't kicked in yet - we had to wait 24 hours - he begged her for her pink pills so he could sleep.  And she gave them to him.  And he slept peacefully.  Those pink pills carried my grandpa home.

So at 4:30 in the morning, crazy Drug Addict Kar was asking her mom for a pink pill.  She gave me half.  We waited an hour.  Nothing changed.  I was still darting my eyes around.  Running to the bathroom every five seconds because I swear I had to pee.  Crying.  Breathing heavily.  Hot, then cold, then hot, then cold.  So after that hour, I took the other half.  Another hour.  Nothing changed.  It was 6:30.  Mom suggested we go on a walk.  I cried the whole time.  Breathed heavily the whole time.  My brow was furrowed the whole time.  I felt this weird impending sense of doom.  When we got home, I called some good friends in the ward, and they called their husbands over to give me a blessing.  I felt so stupid.  And nauseated.  I was dry heaving a bunch from the stupid pink pills.  I am never touching those things again.  They couldn't even put me to sleep!

I've got to admit, I was yelling at Heavenly Father inside my head when mom was clutching my hand and I was trying so hard to calm my breathing.  "DUDE!  CAN YOU THROW ME A FREAKIN' BONE HERE??  THESE PILLS COULD MAKE A DYING MAN SLEEP, AND THEY CAN'T EVEN HELP A GIRL WITH CANCER SLEEP?  COME ONNNNNN!"

We were in a fight.  And I felt guilty.  I've tried never to be mad at him, but I was really, really pissed.  I felt betrayed.

Finally, I fell asleep for about two hours.  When I woke up, the anxiety was still there.  This ADHD stuff was still in me.  My mom had taken my kids to her house, and I was in the house, all alone.  By myself.  I was terrified. 

My dear friend Cathy called me right then and saved me.  She told me some really great, very sacred stories that helped put things into perspective.  She gave me some good ideas to help exterminate the negativity and gloom that had settled on me.  Her mom died a few years ago of cancer and she nursed her mom through the whole thing.  So she knows a thing or two.  She is a spiritual giant and my spiritual sister.  Her perspective and her words helped me more than she will ever know.  Thank you, Cath.

I felt the anxiety slip away. 

But the high was still a little bit there. 

I went and got a medication my psychiatrist had called in which should boost my anti-depressants a little bit and also help sedate a little bit at bedtime.  Under my current circumstances, I need a little more than I've had.  A whole s-load of stuff has happened to me in a really short amount of time, and I need to be able to cope.  Then  Mom and I went to my plastic surgeon to get the cursed blood grenades out.  I was being such a butthead to him.  He took it like a champ.  He was whining about having pulled a hamstring, and I was like, "Wow.  That really sucks.  I can't imagine how it must feel to have a hamstring hurt.  That must be really hard for you."  And then I clapped my hand over my mouth with wide eyes.  "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry."  He chuckled and said he was fine.  I explained the ADHD situation, and he got a good laugh out of that.  After I reminded him that I would CUT him if he didn't pull my grenade hoses out gently, he did so.  He did a very good job.  And then he examined my mutilated chest and said, "Okay, let's start filling you up!"

"Wait.  What????"

"You're healing so well, it's time to give you some boobs again!"

I couldn't believe my ears!  I had no idea! 

I was soooo scared when I saw all those huge vials full of...whatever they're full of.  The inserts that I have are only temporary. They're meant to help my skin stretch. This is what's inside me right now.
When we're to the desired size, they'll take the stretchers out and put the real...boob implant thingeys...in.  I was like, "Ummmmmm, please tell me you'll, like, numb the area before you put that huge needle into my chest."  I was having visions from Pulp Fiction dance through my head - the whole, Uma-Thurman-has- overdosed-and-you-need-to-shoot-this-adrenaline-right-into-her-heart thing. 
 Yes, I went through a rated R phase in college. I have since repented.  And I've been off rated R movies for... maybe 12 years or so?  Thank you, thank you.  [Insert deep, lovely, ballet curtsy here.]

And he's like, "Oh, you're not going to feel this.  Can you feel me do this?" and he flicked my chest. (He had every right to do so.  I mean, first of all, he was flicking my exoskeleton.  Second of all, there is no indignity I haven't faced in having children and having my girl parts taken out and having my boobs cut off.  Someone could cut off my head, and I'd be like, "Yep."  Plus, he had a right to flick me because I had threatened to cut him and told him that his jokes were really dumb and had mocked his pulled hamstring.  In addition, I know his little sister really well.  So I wasn't offended.)

"Oh.  No."

"Yeah, you're not going to have any feeling in this general area again.  I can put this needle right in there and you won't feel a thing."  And he did.

That's trippy.

So he filled me up slowly and carefully.  I felt scared, so I held my mom's hand and sang "Baby I'm Amazed" with her.  Because it was still in my head.

And slowly, gently, the high from the ADHD - the horrible, awful, no good, very bad high - slipped away.  It was replaced with a profound exhaustion.  My eyes were rolling around in my head.  I was so, so tired.  And so, so grateful to have that horrible crap out of my system. 

He told me not to take a nap.  To let my circadian cycle reset itself.  I made some dumb joke about cicadas and their life cycles.  He said that if I couldn't sleep again, to call him.

Later that evening, I was showing my friend Monica my new boobs (they're like a B-minus.  I'm thinking of going for a C-minus or a solid C.  Not sure.  Still thinking) - with my shirt over them, of course, and Micah walked over, head cocked to one side, examining my chest.

"Mom!!" he exclaimed, "Look at your boobs!  You got new boobs!  I'm so happy for you!!  I love them!  You look so pretty!  And skinny, too!"

I love that kid.

Somehow, I managed to make it to 9 that night before sleeping all night long.   Like a log.  It was awesome.

My boobs hurt a little bit, but they're quite, um, perky.  I have to sleep with ice on them and all that.  I have to keep wound dressing on the holes where my tubes for my grenades tortured me for three weeks.  I still have special tape on my stitches from the mastectomy.  They are hard as ROCKS.  Those hard port things on them are right on top.  I hugged my sister last night, and she said, "Ouch."  My mom hugged me and then copped a feelsky.  She was curious as to how they felt.

My dad was all, "Cheriiii...."  But I wasn't offended.  Like I said, no indignity is too much for this messed up body.  I might as well walk around naked.

So, the plan is to fill 'er up again, just a tiny bit, in a couple of weeks, and then that part is done.  At some point they'll put the real implant in.  I don't know if I'm going to even worry about getting n-words.  I'm just...so over surgery stuff.  We'll see if I change my mind, but right now, I have bigger fish to fry. 

6 comments:

Jeremy Sattison said...

Don't say you won't get the nips. I have a coworker that had to have boob reduction and they botched it up and she has no nips, She wishes she had something to help her feel closer to normal and that was like 15 years ago. She has no way to afford the surgery, If you are having any insurance then make sure you get all the work done you need, as much as is possible to know now. you never know what will keep you from being able to get things done in the future. you never know when feeling the most normal you can (or at least Kar normal) will be a hidden blessing in times of mental hurt and despair. But if you don't get the nips then you really could walk around town topless. there would be no reason to wear a shirt anymore. You see all those celebs with everything exposed but the nips and if you don't have any then just go upper body commando.

This is supposed to be helpful but I suck at that just ask my wife.

Kar said...

Haha! It is helpful. I'll consider it. Ben wants me to get weird flower or heart tattoos instead. Who knows...

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