And the morning and the day…

Later Thursday morning, the doctors came by to check me out, and sign the release papers, get the medications ordered, dose me up with IV antibiotics, and Reb came up to bring me back home. I decided to take my first shower there – since I had the room to myself, and there was a shower stall in my private bathroom, and aid in case of trouble. By this time, the bruises had started to come up all around the edges and center, and I was glad I had seen it earlier for the clean look of what it will be when healed.

This was at 8:00 am on Thursday morning – the bruises had just started to come up; it was cleaner earlier. You can see the big arc of the drain starting at center; follow it along to the side where it exits. The original dressing over the drain exit here has since been changed out for a simple surgical sponge held on with two strips of  paper tape – much easier, and less pulling.

I was supplied with towels and soap and, much to my surprise, was then left alone to shower. I awkwardly struggled out of the hospital bathrobe and johnny, breathing through some difficulty and passing moments of intense nerve/phantom limb pain; eventually managed to hose myself (and most of the bathroom!) down; and got half dressed in the street clothes I’d brought without too much bother.

I had forgotten to take off the dressing over the drain, which meant it was soaked and would have needed to be changed anyway, and the nurse came in to do that – something in that procedure, the way I moved, or the touch on my skin, or the drain moving under my skin, who knows?  triggered an intense bout of nerve pain, left me involuntarily screaming and in tears, rocking through the pain, clutching my loss and trying to explain in the short bursts possible. I could feel the volume of my lost breast, the spasms of sharp stabbing hot pains running through the missing flesh – and I was quite aware it was nerve pain, not *real*, and I could barely breathe for it.

It alarmed the nurse enough that she called the doctors back in; they suggested Neurotin and/or Gabapentin, both of which I’ve tried before and both of which aren’t worth the unwanted effects for me. I refused – no point in suffering, but the less drugs, the better (since then the spasms have been passing only – painful and short lived and relatively infrequent. Thank ye gods and little fishes – had that continued, I would have had to reconsider the tradeoff).

The dressing was changed without further incident; I finished getting dressed myself; the scrip for pain meds got called in; the wheelchairs and my escort arrived; and Reb (on her crutch) and I were out of there after a brief stop at the pharmacy.

And I was home again.

Now, I was wobbly with post anesthesia fog, and very little sleep (sleeping propped up on one’s back is the option available these days, and it’s not conducive to good long sleeps for me. An airline neck pillow has saved my life – if you ever find yourself in these or similar circumstances, I highly recommend one), and had hydromorphone well on board. Some of that is still true, four days later, and things are a bit fuzzy around the edges, times are flexible in this half world. Nellie came in to stay the next nights with me (before surgery she had told me this would be happening, that she wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and that she had a key to my house), sleeping on an air mattress in my front room, and making sure I got my meds on time and didn’t fall into that pain gap; I’m pretty sure my mom came by; and Krista showed up with an air conditioner and installed it in the front room.

Are my friends utter heros, or what?