Let there be silicone

God may have created the oceans and the land and all the living beings in six days (guessing he sat down for a beer afterward), but it took five whole months for Annie’s tissue expanders to do their job and be on their way.

Nonetheless, she approached the clerk at the hospital returns desk (not really, but work with me here) and said, “These expanders suck, and I want them out today. And while you’re at it,” she continued, eyeing some soft, silicone-filled permanent implants, “I’ll take a pair of those instead, please.”

After two and a half hours on the operating table, she was waking up from the fog of anesthesia, and ready to get home and sleep in her own bed. Her gourmet dinner last night began with an amuse bouche of tramadol, followed by an appetizer of saltine crackers with a thin layer of crunchy peanut butter, all washed down with the finest ginger ale poured over hand-molded ice cubes. An intermezzo of halved organic strawberries cleansed her palette ahead of a main course of buttered whole wheat toast. Saving room for dessert, she devoured a bite-sized chocolate peanut butter pie sprinkled with sea salt.

So all is well, she’s recuperating fine, if not still mostly in bed due to the pain. Nonetheless, while surgery always blows, this recovery’s nowhere near as tough as the initial mastectomy. For example, she can already (albeit gingerly) raise her arms above her head. So progress is being made. In about four weeks, she’ll be able to lift more than 10lbs, and will enjoy that last run from 3rd base to home plate in this whole journey. She’s ready.