Slowly I'm getting more motion, more flexibility, and more strength in my right side. I don't freak out with every deep breath, every grimace. I'm still freaked out as hell by this port, though. I peeled off the outer bandage a day or two ago, which made the skin less pinchy. The steri-strips are still on everything, and now that I'm moving a bunch, the bruise is coming to the surface. It's a four-inch line running down from my collarbone. It's also starting to itch, which I want to assume means it's healing. However, I keep reminding myself, Never Scratch a Bruise. I remind myself often, because apparently I'm stupid and keep needing to learn the same painful lesson over and over. And I haven't decided whether to ask the one of the nurses how long I'm supposed to be miserable going braless, even for a nanosecond. Showering has become a ridiculous dance, of me trying to soap myself and shampoo my hair with one hand, while the other holds my one remaining intact breast up as high as if I were wearing a bra, to keep downward pressure off of the port. Today I started wondering how to design a shower bra, if such a thing were remotely helpful. Which is more important, not pulling on the port, or not being able to properly wash off under-boob funk?
While the latest incision is healing well enough, I'm finding a return to sudden bouts of fatigue. I suppose it could be my body putting all its energy into (begrudgingly) accepting a foreign object into the jugular vein. I don't think it's a return of the actual cancer fatigue, not this soon. When they said I had a 29% chance of recurrence, that was over ten whole years, if left untreated by chemo. Not a statistically significant chance of it snapping back inside of two months. I only had a couple good bursts of usefulness today, though. I felt good enough to make cassava flour crepes for brunch, a frozen pizza for dinner, and I put away a few things from the kitchen and bathroom. I had the gall to stand back and admire my handiwork for clearing the debris from starting to pack my chemo bag that I'd left out overnight. Oh, how my standards are lowering already.
The one time I went out back, the light was absolutely gorgeous. The spirea was in full bloom, and the whole corner near it looked amazing. The fish pond is a little clearer, although still not getting enough oxygen, we think. In the golden hour sunlight, I could picture how nice it will be there when the flagstone is laid around it, and the patio has been moved to someplace more functional. As lovely as all of this was, I was there without my phone. I had no pictures of any of it. The only new photo I have today is of the face of my poor skinny Wookiee princess, looking in the dirty back door (Hops paid a visit and he and the cats had a confrontation, getting mud all over the glass). Elsa still eats as enthusiastically as always, but nothing sticks to her ribs anymore. She has never been the same since pancreatitis struck late last year. So no matter how many snacks I sneak to her (in addition to the goodies her daddy gives her), she is just wasting away. I cropped her picture tonight, because her thinness is so pitiful.
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