Annie’s recovery continues to progress roughly as expected, except the pain stubbornly remains more intense than anticipated. It’s made experimenting with withdrawing from certain drugs a very slow process indeed. While it’s a very distant one, at least it’s on the horizon. For that, we’re both grateful.
She was hopeful this evening of enjoying a glass of Prosecco along with the Oscars (the real Superbowl, she claims), but a quick check of the biological half-life of Valium (roughly 43 hours for the curious) meant that skipping the mid-day dose wouldn’t be nearly enough to clear it from her system in time for the red carpet, let alone when Best Picture is announced. Since the drug doesn’t play well in alcohol’s sandbox, it means a mocktail for Annie tonight. Gratefully, having done the Whole30 just a couple of months ago, we already have a few go-to recipes, so that’s better than some sparkling cider nonsense. Any suggestions are much appreciated, if you can squeeze them through the Interwebs in the next 25 minutes or so.
This past Thursday she met her plastics’ PA for her first “fill” of her expanders. During her initial surgery, her doctor added a wee bit of saline—about 75ml—to them, and it was now time to begin gradually adding more. The PA related the case of another recent patient who opted to document each fill and expansion, labeling them by “age throughout puberty”, which seemed like a good mental approach to getting through it all. Using the story as a distraction, the PA slowly added 50ml saline to each side with a suspiciously long needle. There’s an obvious big downside to losing a lot of one’s feeling following a mastectomy, but this was a nice little, however brief, upside as she felt little pain. At least from the syringe.
Yet because it’s pressing up against one’s chest cavity while the body adjusts, it can be some what common for a couple of days afterward to feel the effects of what a particularly intense workout would have been. It’s currently located primarily around her sternum and for whatever weird reason, particularly under her right breast and armpit. It leads a difficult choice: She can plow through it with weekly 50ml fills for a couple of months and deal with more intense pain, or do lower amounts or less frequent fills, hopefully with less pain, but for longer than two months. She’s still figuring out that part and may take it on a case basis. She has a responsive, knowledgable, and empathetic surgical team available to her (and to me), so that helps getting through this a lot easier. It’s been a learning process for us both, and while we both recognize this is a temporary thing, it doesn’t make the process any less shitty.
Despite all this, she’s increasingly mobile and independent, like doing laundry (aside from lifting the clothes basket). Up to now, I might have been doing a sub-par job, but my co-workers haven’t been recoiling in putrid disgust, so I suspect she just feels more comfortable getting back into as much of a normal routine as possible. She remains happy to let me run the vacuum, however, although the cat is less thrilled, watching me warily from her high perch atop the sofa.
Ever since the Academy of Motion…whatever its name is…changed the number of potential Best Picture nominees to ten, it’s been difficult for us to watch each ahead of Oscar night. But we came much closer by renting Manchester by the Sea Friday night, and braving the theatre crowds Saturday to watch Fences. Surgery thankfully hasn’t affected Annie’s appetite for popcorn (thank you, Andy, Jen, and family!!!), although salads remain on the list of vaguely menacing foods. Dessert, on the on the other hand, sings its siren lullaby to her.
Barring the Prosecco, a calzone with pepperoni’s on the Grubhub order for tonight. As usual, she knows what’s good for her.
And at the risk of too often repeating myself, we both remain so incredibly grateful for your continued cards, meals, desserts, care packages, texts and wonderfully warm, personal emails. Texts are warm and personal too, but let’s face it—it’s hard to squeeze in a lot of loquacious love in a text. It was a tough week for her, especially being on Denver’s pothole-enhanced streets (Hey, Denver, we have plenty of pot, really. We don’t need it in our streets!). This massive nest of love you’ve created feels so much more supportive than we could have imagined. Thanks for your continued well wishes–it’s making a huge difference in her recovery.
Oh, and for those bored of my droning on and on, rest assured as soon as Annie’s reasonably off of pain meds, she promises she’ll post again. It won’t be long; thanks for your patience!
