Post-Op Day Two (GRAPHIC)

This day started with a little bit more rest and lots of visits from doctors, interns, and whomever else felt the need to wander into my room.  The bitch nurse was still bound and determined to kick me out as soon as possible, though she couldn’t give me a time or any other information.  She told me I could put my pants on, but keep the gown on.  She asked me to take another walk, this time it was really fun because I was alone, and dizzy.  Nobody seemed at all concerned to see the girl with the ‘fall precautions’ bracelet shuffling down the hallway carrying her fanny-pack of marcaine.

Catheters for the marcaine infusion.

Black bag filled with approximately 5 days of marcaine anesthetic to bathe the inside of my chest, two
(Jackson-Pratt) drain bulbs with a small amount of fluid.

After returning from the walk, I decided to empty my drains.  This consists of stripping the blood and clots from the tube into the bulb and then dumping out the bulb and measuring and recording the output.

I slowly gathered my belongings in anticipation of leaving, and I’m glad I did.  The nurse arranged for someone to transport me to the pharmacy in a wheel chair, and then to the entrance to be picked up.  Meanwhile, the surgeons each came to take one last look.  Both were very proud of their work.  Um.  I would hate to see the work they aren’t proud of, because all I see is crooked, lumpy frankenstein boobs.

Results, approximately 24 hours post-op for prophylactic bilateral mastectomies with stage one of reconstruction, expanders placed.

Pointing to the ridge of the edge of the expander.

So according to the surgeons, this looks great, the skin looks good, incisions look good, everything is draining properly and there are no signs of infection.  Time to go home.

I sat in a wheel chair and a woman helped carry my bags while wheeling me down first to the pharmacy, then to the entrance.  Each bump, threshold, rug, concrete floor junction shot a sharp pain through my body.  It’s okay, because before I knew it, I was being helped into a warm car, nestled in with a pillow,ready for the short ride home.  I was looking forward to my new recliner,my own food and drinks, my own schedule.  That was quickly overshadowed by the excruciatingly painful experience of feeling every single bump, patch of snow or ice, every pot hole.  Every muscle in my chest was being jostled and tensed up and all I could do was bury my face in my pillow and hope that I got home soon.  The whole way to the house I was sobbing in pain, and I could barely get out of the car.  I think this is a sign that perhaps I was not adequately controlling my pain and perhaps another day in the hospital to work out the proper regimen would have been appropriate.  It was too late.  No way in hell was I going anywhere in that state, with that amount of pain. Time to take some drugs and try out the new recliner.