“But it will give you lift with that!”

January 25, 2012 3 Comments

Today I did the unthinkable:  I went to the mall.  I did this not to torture myself, my child or my husband, but because I needed Spanx and I needed them NOW.

No, I've not gone all porno on everyone, as many (not all, but probably a good number) women know, Spanx are those marvelous Spandex items that manage to help you squeeze into a tight little number and still breathe.  Or, in the case of my not quite 3 week post-surgical self:  a size 10 pair of jeans.

Now, one might say, why not a traditional girdle?  Why not one of those Futuro binder things you find right next to the Ben-Gay at the CVS?  Why?  Well, not only did the Futuro binder not work (fits a size 32-45 inch waist my a**), but it left me in quite a bit of pain.  It kept me in an upright position, but did nothing for easing clothes on or off.  When I removed it, my stomach looked and felt like I had fallen asleep on a set of Venetian blinds.

Perhaps the best question of all is why am I doing this in the first place?  After all, I had a tummy tuck, right?  I should be super-slim and ready to hop in a bikini (umm….).  Well, there is the post-surgical swelling.  I have not had the time or inclination to do an in-depth study, but everything I have read about swelling post-DIEP indicates that weeks to months are involved in the reduction of swelling.  

There is also the school of thought that the binder (or Spanx, in my case) might offer a bit of support. Sure, if it doesn't cut off your ability to breathe.  Now, to defend my doctor, once the drains came out, he recommended, but did not require, the use of Spanx.  I was told, especially by his assistant, that they were far more comfortable, would not "bind" me as much, but would still give me support and perhaps expand my wardrobe (guess they are a little tired of the old housepants?).

In fact, my doctor said, "Oh, you aren't wearing your regular jeans yet?"

No, I just didn't have the inclination to try to shove my larger than whale self into my size 8 jeans (with a drain still in).  Also, given that my daily activities consisted of napping, eating and maybe a walk, I really didn't have, say, the need to torture myself in such a manner.

After the binder incident, I realized I needed something. Some sort of magical suit that would allow me to not feel as though my stomach is falling out of my body every time I stand up and yet would not cause me to run for the Percocet.  I took the assistant's recommendation and started researching Spanx.

It turned out that she was quite correct and I found at least one plastic surgeon that extolled the virtues of Spanx on his site for those who were post-tummy tuck.  On line of Spanx in particular was   quite popular.  So, today I found my Nordstrom gift card, we loaded up the car and off we went.   

The best part of the trip?  Running into a friend at lunch.  We had a late lunch, so it was not crowded and we were able to get a booth (far more comfy). We then headed to Nordstrom.  Originally I was tempted to just send Peter, but I realized that if I didn't try these items on, it would just be a ton of back and forth.

No fewer than three times did Peter mutter on the way from the restaurant to Nordstrom, "I forgot this is why we never go to the mall!"  It's true…we never do, at least not with Nicholas.  Everything is eye candy and while we have no issue saying 'no' (it's more of a "Oh, you have a birthday coming up, we'll see") sort of thing, it's just annoying.  I realized after living in Iceland that although malls can occasionally be convenient, they just aren't my cup of tea and definitely not my son's.

We shuffled along and finally made it to the store and up to the hosiery department.  No sooner had we arrived than Nick found several mannequins in a state of undress.

"Look, Mom, they are NAKED!"  Well, yes, so they are.  Pete might have been a bit embarassed, but at that point I couldn't care less.  Peter finally found a table for Nick to use for his Legos (oh, yes, we took the Fire Bag and Legos…we may be crazy to go to the mall, but we aren't stupid). I found the EXACT Spanx I was looking for and headed in for the showdown.

Thank God I decided to try them on.  Turns out all the swelling makes me two sizes larger, so the "one size smaller" that I am supposed to purchase is really one size larger than I normally wear.  Now, I had a nice motherly type helping me and she was happy to help.  She came to check on me and I had just figured out that the size large Incognito was going to work perfectly.  It offered support, but didn't strangle me and with the gift card (thanks, Dad & G!), it would cost but a pittance.

She asked how I was doing and I said, "Just fine."  I hoped she would walk away, but then came the worst possible question:

"Would you like to look for some bras to go with those?"

I snarkled (snarkily chuckled) that I was just fine.  Then she went one step further:

"But it will give you such lift with that!"

I just about died with laughter.  I mean, really, I am still recovering from my "lift," hence the reason I am there in the first place.  I finally choked out that I just had surgery and only wish I could have seen the look on her face.  A year ago, I would have been absolutely mortified and run from the store screaming and crying at the thought of all that had gone on.   Maybe I've just gotten to that point that I just don't care anymore.  If you are going to tell me I need lift, I'll tell (or show – eep!) you exactly why I don't!  Heck, I could pull up the massive EOBs from our insurance company on my iPhone.  If that doesn't scream lift, I don't know what does.

I won't even going into how she then tried to sell me bikini underwear that was "on special." Did the whole Spanx + surgery thing just completely pass her by?  

We managed to make it out of there intact, I didn't spend a fortune and Nicholas earned his 15 minutes in the Lego store.  We came home, I napped for an hour (I think I should take up napping professionally;  it's really quite satisfying!) and then woke up and figured I'd give the ole Spanx a go.

Ten minutes later, I had the Spanx on and had to admit, I actually felt as though my stomach was not going to collapse.  I then went a step further and pulled out the jeans I hadn't touched in 2.5 weeks…and slid them right on.  Even threw on a nice sweater for good measure and voila, I am ready for dinner.  

Now, don't be getting your hopes up for a picture.  As anyone who has seen me recently can attest, I still have the beached whale look and that's fine with me.  I was just getting a bit tired of the 'pants and sometimes it's nice to, uh, dress up, if you will.  

Oh, and I almost forgot the best part of the whole trip.  Was it the pain of walking?  Was it Nicholas managing to get a mall pretzel after all?  Was it Peter hanging out in the lingerie section, pretending to take important phone calls while I tried to navigate that section that frightens me on a not so post-surgical day?

No, it was leaving the lingerie section.  There was a nice selection of rainbow-colored cotton panties for the ladies.  Nicholas took one look at the "Commando Cotton" and said, "Oooh, those are SO pretty, we should get some for Kelsey!"  

Peter nearly slid under the table, I said, "Wouldn't that be nice?" and we headed out on our way.  In fact, I spent the whole way home grinning ear to ear, thinking about how life just wouldn't be as entertaining without my Little Guy.

 

 

Filed under Uncategorized Tagged with , , , ,

“You still have your

January 18, 2012 3 Comments

blood, honey!"

Nicholas made this statement to me last night as I ambled down the stairs after a 4 hour nap (please don't judge).  I had gone upstairs late in the afternoon as I was utterly exhausted and I knew the kids would want to play in the living room.  I cocooned myself in bed so I couldn't possibly roll over and had a variety of nightmares and/or weird dreams.  If you know me, nothing unusual about that.  

Now one might think something was terribly wrong with Nicholas noticing blood, but he was really just remarking on my remaining drain and its accompanying tube.  Did I say "remaining?"  Yes!

Monday was my first post-op visit to the surgeon.  It was a slightly painful drive, but I made it and for the first time, was truly glad to be in his office.  As you know, I very much like Dr. X., however, the primary reason behind my visits was not a good one.  But….I'm moving beyond that.

I was so excited to be there that I actually thought I might hug the doctor.  I mean, I dressed UP for the appointment.  Okay, I was clad in my standard button-down sweater, housepants, wool socks and Crocs (I'm all about comfort right now), but I wore earrings!  I (sort of) did my hair!  I actually have started to feel like I might want to expand my wardrobe once all is said and done and maybe I'll wear lipstick (or at least naturally-tinted lip balm)  twice a week.  Well, I shouldn't go nuts yet.  Now why did I feel so good?   Dr. X.

He did nearly the impossible for me.  He took a portion of extra skin from a place where it was not needed and moved it to an area that allows it to function as a near perfect breast.  No, it's not a truly working breast, but the look and feel is incredible (I just can't stress that enough).  

Not only is the shape nearly perfect in so many ways, but one can already see the outline (okay, Dad, and skittish readers, avert your eyes) for my new nipple.  Since my previous surgery was not nipple-sparing, a new one must be fashioned for me and then the color will be tattooed on my skin.  I can't say I'm looking forward to the pain, but I am quite curious to see the final product.  No worries, there will be no show on this blog, only tell if I am truly happy.

After he checked all of the areas that were involved surgically, Dr. X. allowed that I could have two drains removed:  the one from my right breast and the one closest to my right hip.  The output for both was next to nothing, and it was time for them to be adiosed.  The drain on the left side of my stomach incision is still putting out quite a bit, so it will be at least Friday before it is removed.

I can't say the process was painless, as there was quite a bit of burning, but such a relief to have those suckers out.  Band-aids were attached and I was given the green light to go.  I felt so giddy, I would have skipped out of the office would that be possible without me going into paroxysms of pain.  Oh, and boo on those of you all fancy-schmancily dressed in the waiting room giving me that "Why aren't you wearing your stiletto leather riding boots to the plastic surgeon's office?"  Don't be hating on me just because you have no legitimate excuse to wear housepants in public for the next two months.  Sorry, Botox injections don't make the cut.

I now have only one drain and I am supremely happy about that.  Even better?  Somewhere along the way, I missed the fact that Dermabond was used on my belly incision.  I knew something was glopped on there, but didn't quite catch the name nor did it occur to me it would slowly slough off.  So each day, I would look in the mirror (you know, when I was trying to arrange the drains and tubes 'just so') and see this angry red scar.  I was ignoring it for now, hoping it would one day disappear and then realized last night that it already has.  The Dermabond has started to peel off and take some of the angriness with it. In its place is skin that looks normal, pink, healthy and a nearly invisible scar.

Now this is where I say thank you once again.  So much appreciation to my dear friends who encouraged me and reminded me I could do this. Everyone who texted me until (seriously) I was headed into the OR and had to hand over my phone.  Thank you, thank you, for the push I needed.

Now it's recliner time, since Peter has totally revamped my corner of the living room by installing a new TV that is hooked up to our Apple TV.  I know, lazy, lazy, lazy, but I might as well convalesce in comfort, right?  Plus, I have the added bonus of getting to watch Little Guy play, play, play all day long (oh, the imagination….I LOVE it!)…okay, and an occasional episode of Celebrity Wife Swap (much tamer than the real Wife Swap, BTW) and my comfort movies from our library…and enjoying the yummy food our friends bring over daily…reading books on the kindle…actually having time to do the WaPo crossword…playing words with friends….healing in comfort;  I can't ask for much more than that.

 

 

Filed under the blip Tagged with , , ,

I can’t describe it as anything other than sheer

January 17, 2012 5 Comments

glee.

Well, that might be a *wee* bit strong for now, but I honestly think it is what I have been feeling for the past week or so.  In other words, that first post-surgical blog post was not just the meds talking.  If you remember, I was a bit stressed about the surgery, so much so, that I took a 'relaxation' pill the night before.  I kept the stiff upper lip and tried to be positive, but also allowed myself to think that the surgery could fail, the worst-case scenarios would happen and I would end up regretting everything.  Given that I did not expect that my world was going to improve 1000% overnight, imagine when it did?

Okay, okay, we'll leave it at 990% for now.  After all, I do have a follow-up surgery and some tweaking, but overall I am so content.  I KNOW without a doubt that the DIEP was THE best procedure for me and I am so glad that I have so many friends who would not let me skip this opportunity.  

Do you know what I did last week?  When it was finally time to take that first, real post-surgical shower, I looked in the mirror.  I gave a long, hard look and do you know what I saw?  I saw resolution.  I saw (and felt) a decision that will never, ever be regretted.  Despite what some people say, despite that there are entire groups who feel that reconstruction is a waste of time and money, I will forever be grateful for the foresight I had to research my options and go with my gut.

You see, there are many people out there who believe that reconstruction is useless.  There is the idea that breast cancer is over-sexualized and it's all about "saving the ta-tas."  Trust me, by the time you get to my point (and remember that I was only Stage 1 and am doing just fine), there was little or no saving to be done. There rarely is at that point and all of the awareness in the world is fine, but it won't necessarily prevent you from losing body parts that you have come to appreciate.

Now, one might say, "But, my God, you get to live!"  Well, it's not as if I went off on a bender, driving down the wrong side of the road or spent my days living in an otherwise reckless manner.  As some people like to say, it was a complete crapshoot.  However, that begs the question:   Why are those who are stricken suddenly supposed to hate a body part and want to immediately part with it?  Why are we supposed to be grateful to have our chests mutilated, our skin burned and perhaps our bodies filled with toxins?  If we didn't do anything wrong, then each additional "fix" just adds insult to injury.

Yet each and every day, I read of someone who decided against reconstruction because she doesn't need a breast to be a woman.  No, I suppose one doesn't.  So, then, many women who opt for reconstruction are made to feel as if they are somehow desiring to be pin-up models or are trying to enjoy that size C that God forgot to give us in the first place.  So, here is my question:  If a man had to undergo something similar (say a slightly different type of cancer) and he wanted reconsctructive surgery, would he be made to feel like less of a man?  Would he be told to just cut it off, that it doesn't define who you are, so just get over it already?

Somehow, I think not.  So why can't women enjoy the same privilege?  Why is it assumed that we are aching for a Playboy contract (let's face it, that's not happening) or that we don't feel whole without body part that so many deem to exist solely for a sexual purpose?

Maybe, just maybe, it's like any other body part.  Would you not be upset to lose an arm or a leg?  So, why are we so quick to decide that this is so much less necessary than any other limb?  

For many women, the breast is much more than just a sexual object, as it is also a primary source of nourishment and comfort for wee ones.  I don't know how I would have gotten through the feeding and comforting of three children without them.  Yet, because a miserable cell invaded one of mine, I am supposed to discard it like yesterday's trash. I was supposed to look in the mirror and feel whole again despite the fact that there was a blank slate where one of my primary tools of early parenting was cut off, poked, prodded, tested and thrown away.  I was supposed to feel stronger and more self-assured because I lost a body part?

No, thank you.  If there is an option to make me look and feel whole again, I will take it. I look in the mirror now and while I don't see a perfectly matching set (but never did), I do see a work in progress.  I have cleavage that looks and feels natural.  I feel pressure, pain and hot and cold in growing amounts each day. Nicholas can snuggle up against me (okay, not right now, but one day soon) and he will be able to rest his head on my chest as we read books or tell stories and it will feel as natural and normal as it did in the past.  However, decidedly, the best part of the whole situation is how I feel at the moment.

I feel Glee (yes, with a capital "G").  Glee for making the right (and only) decision for me.  I feel sorry for those who feel as though they have to continue to push the idea that reconstruction is somehow bad or wrong.  I would never tell someone that they should or shouldn't (though would give my experience if asked) and think that the needs of the person dictate what should happen.

I also do not think that it is correct to imply that anyone who pursues their surgical options naturally has less self-confidence.   In fact, I feel quite the opposite.  I took a huge risk and had to have not only an enormous amount of confidence in my doctor, but also in myself….and thus far, nearly 11 days later, I do not have one regret nor do I expect I ever will.

Filed under the blip Tagged with , ,