Just Peachy

Inspirational song: I Do the Rock (Tim Curry)

On my way out the door to Rotary, a woman on a bicycle hailed me. "Do you have two dogs? One of them black and white?" I said yes, thinking I had just seen Saoirse drinking water in the back yard before I walked outside. She explained that she had just put her in the yard, after chasing her all around the block. She stopped her from getting all the way to the busy artery street, but she also called animal control before she caught her. While we were in the back alley, retrieving the cord she used to secure my gate when she couldn't get it to latch, the animal control truck drove up. I had to have a "conversation" with her before I could go on to Rotary. I chose to leave the dog inside while I was gone. I just don't want to repeat that experience.

Several folks were surprised that I made it to the meeting, but I was pleased that it wasn't too difficult of a feat. Plus, the speaker was super interesting (an auctioneer describing what the business is like and how one becomes involved in it). Rotary is my extended family, and it did me a lot of good to rejoin them as soon as possible. Plus it reminded me that tonight was the pickup date for the fundraiser. Every year we sell 18-lb cases of Palisade peaches. I took Saoirse with me to get our box of peaches. She and I hadn't driven anywhere together in a couple of months, and I think it was making her stir crazy. She loved riding around so much, she didn't bark at a single dog, pedestrian, or cyclist we passed. She climbed over me to greet the Rotarians who were handing out peaches. And this evening, she is shaming me for not offering her a bite of the first peach I ate.

I took some fruit over for the baby. I gave them a handful of peaches, plus I picked up a bag of apples on the way because they had run out. I wasn't sure whether Valerie was happier to see me or the apples, but I think I won out over the fruit by a nose. I got a solid ten minutes of baby hugs, and then came home. She walked me to my car, stopping as always to pick up rocks. There is nothing more that kid wants than fresh, wild-caught rocks from outside. If she doesn't at least minor in geology in college, I will be shocked.

Twenty Years

Inspirational song: Happy Xmas (War Is Over) (John Lennon)

I had to look details up on Wikipedia, and I'm having trouble trusting my own memory now. But I'll press on with what I had planned for tonight.

In high school, I only had a vague grasp of world events and US foreign policy. I knew the absolute basics of the Vietnam War, but had other interests, as teenagers often do, and just assumed that since that war was over, that our country would be at peace forever, since the only other option was mutual nuclear annihilation with the Soviets, and who would want that? I have this memory of being at a seminar in my freshman year dorm at CU, and the professor turned on a television, to show news reports of a US military action, and it freaked me out. (Here's where I had to google: I thought it was the invasion of Grenada, but that was years earlier, and Wikipedia suggests it might have been actions in Libya. Memory is a funny thing.) I was just sure this announcement of missiles firing or whatever was the end of the world. How could anyone actually choose to go to war, or even just perform a warlike short action? I felt lost. I was utterly terrified, after a decade of believing we were done with war forever. Ah, the naiveté of youth.

My children had the opposite childhood. I was pregnant during Operation Desert Storm. Their father joined the military right before they started school, and deployed to somewhere over there (Saudi? Kuwait?) at least once early on. And they were in gradeschool on 9/11. They have not known this country at peace since. I cannot fathom how the teens and 20-somethings of this country perceive it. 

I have a lot of mixed emotions about the last day of the war in Afghanistan today. Mostly, I'm glad it is over. Yes, nearly everyone I knew who went to it and/or Iraq came back safely. Some were seriously injured. As far as I know, the only deaths that brushed my sphere were friends of friends. When the airlift first started, I was quite nervous about it. It was like watching a horror movie, when you're home, sitting on your couch, screaming "jump in the truck and drive away now!" I felt helpless and panicked, wanting them to scoop out anyone who wanted to go immediately, and sort out the paperwork in a different country. All I could think about was escape. I'm frightened for the people who remain, even those who chose to. I'm angry about how long we stayed, how much money was spent, in whom we placed our trust, and how poorly it was all managed. Could the exit have gone better? Maybe? There is an awful lot I don't understand about war, ranging from why to start one to how to end one.

All told, I'm relieved it's over and I'm impressed as hell that they managed to get out over 120,000 people. I'm pleased that my governor was one of the first few to write and declare our state open to refugees. Beyond that, I need time to mull it over. Twenty years was a whole lot. With distance, we ought to be able to be objective about it.

For tonight, I'm going to snuggle with my silly dog, and hope that this first night without a surgical drain in my side is more comfortable than the last nine were.

Friendly

Inspirational song: Take the Long Way Home (Supertramp)

I'm still at war with myself over what an acceptable level of activity is. I overdid it yesterday with one lap around Walmart. Today's too much involved going out to lunch. This is not to say it wasn't worth it. It was just more than I should have done.

A friend and fellow agent came by this morning with a gift of food and conversation. She made enchiladas for us to bake for dinner. We hadn't seen each other for a few months, and for ages before that because our meetings had been all remote for so long. We were back to masking and sitting far apart, but it was lovely to have her here to get caught up. I chickened out of eating the super hot pepper from her garden that she included with the meal, but I did alert my Scoville champ son-in-law to try it. He will give it a whirl.

Moments after she left, another friend came by with her teenage son, and we went downtown for lunch. It was the first time I'd taken advantage of one of the extended seating areas along Main Street--or more accurately on Main. They scooped out parking places in front of several restaurants this year, rather than closing the entire right hand lane in both directions like last year. I commented near the end of our meal that with constant car traffic a few feet away from our table, it felt like being on a very slow amusement park ride. They decided it was the Lazy River Restaurant. I kind of liked it.

Once I got home, I needed a second Benadryl and a nap, while the Mr met a bunch of our friends for a bike tour between breweries. They are still at it as I write. Not sure whether to be concerned yet. Probably, but I choose not to be.

A Week Out

Inspirational song: Someday, Someway (Marshall Crenshaw)

For the first time in a week, I showered. Wash cloth baths were doing the trick, but they just don't feel good. This morning I got to stand in running water, and it was amazing. I couldn't wash my hair all week, leaving it a frizzy, fuzzy, matted mess. Now it is clean and styled. It took an extra shampoo to get it feeling clean, and I used a ton of deep conditioning mask to work out the dreadlock under the base of my skull. I can't tell whether it is from a week of neglect, or time and distance from chemo, but my curls seem looser today.

I swing wildly between feeling like I can conquer the world and wondering whether I'm backsliding. Neither are necessarily the whole truth, but I get fooled by the former more often than I ought. Leaves me at the mercy of the latter. I'm still eaten up by hives, so I went up to buy brand-name Benadryl, instead of the maybe-expired store brand I'd been using. One loop around Walmart and I barely made it back to the car. One Benadryl and I still itch. A day and a half back on antibiotics, and the surgical site is still a bit pink but maybe less puffy. I honestly have no idea how to track my progress. Is this right?

Kids came by today. They walked over to my neighborhood to feed a friend's cat, and stopped in to give grandparents some baby snuggles. It was rejuvenating for us, and it conked the baby out. She was sound asleep by the time they reached their driveway. I wish I could do that.

Freeing

Inspirational song: Turn Me Loose (Loverboy)

Two doctor appointments down, with good results. First, to the cancer center, for the breast surgeon to get her first look. I told her about the hives, and the massive amount of real estate it covered. She asked me to point to the extent of it, and nodded to her PA, "That's the prep. I always wash it off, but he doesn't." She tried to get me to say something when I went to see the other surgeon, and I declined, reluctant to get into the middle of a disagreement between them. She poked at the breast a little, where it was ever so slightly puffy and pink, and told me to go back on the antibiotics. I agreed to that directive. We also went over my pathology report, and it was all good news. She told me that the other doctor would be in charge of declaring me healed, and then we would start radiation.

The plastic surgeon was in surgery when I arrived, so my whole appointment was with his nurse (which was fine--I like her). She peeled off the bandages and pried out the staples. After looking at my written notes, she conferred with the doctor, and they decided not to pull the drain out yet. I was quite disappointed. I now have tape on the seams, and a much more comfortable bra. I still have to sleep on my back, but at least now I can shower and wash my hair for the first time in a week.

I got a couple good looks at what remains. It's so small! I said it's not just that, it's also the slang "smol." Now the right side is noticeably smaller than the left. That's a switch. I think once it has healed, I'm going to really like it. My shoulders already do.

Until the staples were out, I didn't want to drive myself anywhere, especially on a highway. The only one free to take me around this time was my son-in-law. I rode in the back with the Grump, and as a thank you, I took both of them to brunch afterwards. That was even more fun than getting my bandages and staples off.

Tick Tock

Inspirational song: Beth (Kiss)

Just a few more hours and I can get these offending staples out of my chest. I can't stand them another second, but yet I have to find a way to sleep with them in one more time. I swear they are getting tighter, like I am wrapped in barbed wire, and someone keeps twisting a sardine can key in it, one revolution a day.

I see the cancer surgeon first thing in the morning, so she can peek at her work, and then I high-tail it to the plastic surgeon for staple removal and bandage reset. I was setting out clothes for tomorrow, and I fought the impulse to grab a bra. I'm sure he will wrap me up in a fresh one, and if by chance he doesn't, no big deal. I'll go home free and easy, without feeling even a little bit weird.

I did nothing today. I mean nothing. I sat and stared and felt each intake of breath against my bandages. I had no painkillers other than my regular NSAID. I didn't take a benadryl either, even though I still have hives. I can't say that just watching seconds tick on the clock was wise, but it took a whole day to decide that.

At least most of the evening, I've been entertained by the Squeaky Toy Symphony, as performed by my best good girl. Find someone who looks at you like Saoirse does a squeaky toy.

Same Old Games

Inspirational song: Ordinary Average Guy (Joe Walsh)

Things are getting darned near back to normal around here. So fast! I'm clear-headed, mostly mobile, and ready to burn a little pent-up energy. I didn't need any painkillers until well into the evening, once I was certain I'd slightly overdone it. If the staples were already out, I might have a lot more trouble remembering not to raise my arms. The hives are still there, but I guess every silver lining has to have a gray cloud, right?

The gang was super nice to me, and came here for game night. Lucky for me, I had the wherewithal to do some dishes (but I stopped short of putting away the bowls and anything higher) and to vacuum until the battery ran out of charge. I rested a lot between bursts of cleaning, and got enough done that I felt fine letting everyone come in. (All the clearing I did ahead of time has already come in handy.) I missed having folks here. Now that our neighbor has started grad school, we might be pulling games back over here more often. I would like that. It's also convenient to have access to toddler supplies here, and the toddler herself is comfortable at grandma and grandpa's house.

Saoirse wasn't used to having so many humans in her living room, but that didn't slow her one bit. She loved having a whole bunch of adult men to play squeakie toy with, and she ate up the attention. Unfortunately, that's not all she ate. I heard a grumpy voice coming from the basement right before I started to write. The story continues in the photos.

Relief

Inspirational song: You've Got a Friend (Carole King)

Problem solved, mostly? I called the surgeon's nurse and told her the hives/rash on my torso was worse than yesterday afternoon when she first called to check on me. A good friend from Rotary offered me a ride down to their office, and I showed off my itchy midsection to the nurse. She said she and the surgeon suspect it is a reaction to the antibiotics, not to the tape or bandages, based on how much of my body it covers. I tend to agree. Nonetheless, she went around the edges of the bandaging, peeling the tape off my skin and tucking it into itself. I still have the tight velcro bra holding everything in place. She then gave me a handful of hydrocortisone cream samples to smother over it, and instructions not to take any more antibiotics.

So yay. Is this one more group of potentially life-saving drugs unavailable to me? I'm running out of options. I joked with my friend that if I lose any more classes of antibiotics, I'll be left with rinsing my mouth out with rubbing alcohol and hoping for the best. (No, I will not actually do that.) 

It was nice getting abducted by my friend for a quick dash to west Boulder. The whole visit with the nurse was over so quickly, but it was worth the trip. I owe my friend the next favor. Not sure what she will want, but I'll do it. I just hope it won't involve phone calls.

Scratchy

Inspirational song: Join Together (The Who)

Four days into this thing, and I'm doing fine. I've begun to dramatically taper off pain pills, although I'm not entirely off them yet. I'm getting around the house okay, but I still need assistance making meals. My sleep schedule is all jacked up, as is expected. 

I think the worst part I dealt with today was my reaction to glue. With the first partial mastectomy and the chemo port placement/removal, I itched horribly from the surgical glue they used to close incisions. I had a rash around each application that lasted until it all peeled away. Benadryl mostly handled it. For this surgery, most of my chest is taped up around the gauze, and wrapped in a binding that relies heavily on velcro. I am covered in a nasty rash from jawline to belly button. It's not quite as red as a poison ivy rash, but it is every bit as bumpy and itchy. The plastic surgeon's nurse called late this afternoon to check on me, and she tried to get me to come in tomorrow to find solutions for it. I can't get there without a driver, and tomorrow the Mr teaches three classes, one of which is at a campus in a different town. I said I would just keep downing Benadryl as long as it was working for me. Not a great solution, but a tolerable one for now.

Have I said out loud how glad I am that I completely emptied my schedule for this week? I made zero promises about meeting anyone for any reason before the bandages come off Friday. I would accept visitors, but on a more spontaneous kind of arrangement. I am very lucky to have the opportunity to do nothing this week but knit my body back together.

Off to a Good Start

Inspirational song: Breathe (Faith Hill)

At the end of my second night back home, and healing is still progressing nicely. I'm still moving carefully, because I am not stupid. But I am moving, which is key. I slept late, but once I was awake, I got out of bed and stayed out. I was in my favorite chair most of the day, getting up to walk every hour or two, as instructed. I'm not lifting heavy things, not even a half gallon carton of cream for my coffee. I am clean, for the first time since Friday morning, and that improved my attitude immensely. I had to ask the Mr to fill a plastic dish tub with warm water and set it on the bathroom counter to accomplish that cleaning. I would be allowed to sit in a shallow bath, but I can't imagine getting back out of the bath when even standing up off the toilet is tricky right now. I couldn't fill the bathroom sink, because it was just too far down to lean over to rinse out my washcloth. These things will get easier, but for now I am just doing the best I can with creative solutions.

I don't have any research to back up my hunch, but I'm wondering whether the supplemental oxygen I was on for the first day and night wasn't the biggest boost to how much easier this recovery seems compared to other ones. I am not capable of breathing deeply in general, and with a cut up chest, it's even harder. My O2 saturation since I have been home has been kind of crappy (hard to keep it over 90-91). The first night has to have helped me.

Sensation is starting to return. I'm wearing a ton of gauze and tape, and the elastic and velcro bits of the binder bra are digging in my skin a little. To make it all more fun, things are starting to itch. I can't scratch anything, but that doesn't mean I don't want to.

Dinner was a pleasant surprise. We had vegetables from the garden roasting, when the Ks next door texted to announce they were bringing over some shredded pork made on the smoker we gave them as a wedding gift. Normally we eat at their house, because she is allergic to cats. She's fascinated by cats (as they were by her), so I hope the visit here doesn't leave her itchy and struggling to breathe. Harvey wanted to be her friend so much, and not just because she had a plateful of pig.

In the Bosom of My Family

Inspirational song: The Warrior (Patty Smyth)

Recovery is going surprisingly well. Might be my best one so far. Not sure yet what to attribute that to. I'm leaning towards giving the credit to being allowed to stay overnight, and not pushing myself to do too much on my own right away. While I appreciate that day surgery is right for some people, I am one who benefits from a little extra monitoring. I am glad I was able to stay.

This is not to imply I have no pain. I definitely feel stuff. I think there might be a staple right next to my sternum that is poking me a bit. I'm staying on top of my pain meds, and sitting and sleeping in the position I was directed to use. I might take advantage of the flexeril they provided to keep my back from spasming while I have to sleep on my back, with the back of the bed raised to 45 degrees or higher.

I wasn't in the house three minutes before my furry girls found me. I crawled in bed, and immediately Athena was on my right shoulder, and Saoirse was on my left hip. We worried that puppy would be too enthusiastic, but she has comported herself quite well. 

I'm able to walk around the house for little bits at a time. I can get to the bathroom by myself, and I have emptied my own drain twice. I needed help stripping the drain tube once. I haven't had much of an appetite, but I have eaten enough to take my meds with. Doctor said he took out almost a thousand grams, and boy, can I tell. He is very happy with how things lined up and matched the other side. We will still do the rebuild on the left after I have recovered from radiation. As for now, I am completely covered and bound under lots of gauze and an uncomfortable velcro binding bra. I can only guess what it looks like under there.

The kids knew I was jonesing for a baby fix. They came by to bring me flowers and to let the baby say hello. Well, she didn't exactly say hello. But she did clearly say her new word: "bee." I didn't get to hold her at all, but we got to visit while a massive thunderstorm rolled through, delaying their walk home.

 I'm curious how my first night home will go. Good, I hope.

Post-Op

Inspirational song: Comfortably Numb (Pink Floyd)

That feeling when you realize you just took a hospital bed selfie with the arm you aren't supposed to extend. Whoops!

I don't intend to write a whole lot. Just a note to say I am feeling fine, reasonably clear-headed but sleepy, and I am glad the decision was made to stay overnight. There are no bad issues yet, but I have had unending soreness at the drain site. Stinging, burning, and punching feelings. I definitely needed help getting up to pee, and I have discovered the absolute volume limit of my bladder. Yikes. And I'm guessing it was the radioactive dye to trace the sentinel lymph node that turned it green?

Saoirse is already misbehaving. Tomorrow's reunion will be interesting.

Before and after pictures:

Erin Go Braughless

Inspirational song: I Don't Care Anymore (Phil Collins)

Look, I've got something to get off my chest. No, seriously. Literally. I went to the plastic surgeon this morning, signed a bunch of consent stuff, had photos taken of my naked upper torso (and for the record, I declined the permission to use them on their social media), and then I went into a different room. There one nurse in training watched and asked questions while the other nurse held my skin taut, and the doctor drew on me with a purple marker. It was weird. Scary and outside of my experience, but exhilarating in a strange way. I am so ready for the reduction part of this surgery. I am telling the dog's-honest truth when I say I do not care at all what size my chest ends up, as long as the shape and orientation are pretty. All I want to accomplish out of this is the liberating feeling of going braless with confidence. I'm sick to death of the weight of the world pulling my shoulders down. Even after throwing away all my underwire bras, I am still miserable in the all-lycra contraptions.

The doc asked me whether they were planning on keeping me overnight. I explained that I would be bringing a small travel bag just in case, but I didn't know what to expect. He said he would rather I stayed, and when I concurred, citing my one year old Great Pyrenees puppy, he restated definitively that I would spend the night. I told the day surgery nurse who called to remind me tomorrow was the day (do people forget?) and she made a note to have him write the order.

I received instructions on drain care. I had one once six years ago, but that time was a haze of pain, so I didn't remember how to handle it. Much like the port was my least favorite part of the last cancer, I expect this to be the one thing I complain most about. Funny, I'm not fond of foreign objects under or through my skin. Maybe this is why belly button piercings gross me out so badly.

The baby came over this evening for one last cuddle before grandma is off-limits for a week or two. She was supposed to show off the new skill she picked up, of spinning in circles until she was dizzy, but she didn't want to repeat it in front of an audience. Instead, she let grandpa swing her around, especially upside down, and that made her plenty dizzy for now. She tired out quickly, and turned into a cranky-puss before I could get good photos. A little extra truth in tonight's Valerie gallery.

Also, I ran my laundry now, so I would come home to a clean bed. I took a water break in between fitted and flat sheets, and came back to find Athena reattaching her collection of soft, black fur in her particular spot... as if the last set had completely come off in the laundry. Tell me again why I bother? It's fine. I sleep in a fur covered bed when I'm healthy. Might as well do it when I'm in recovery.

Alternatively

Inspirational song: Synchronicity II (The Police)

Thank goodness we bailed on the trip to the ranch. We were all so tired and sore and not up to driving three hours each way. As Mr S-P said, we would probably have ended up in a ditch somewhere along the drive. Instead, we all moved slowly this morning, some people sleeping late, and we sat around the kids' house and played with the baby, while we waited for the Mr to complete a blood donation. 

Val is progressing nicely through toddler growth stages. She was running around her living room, babbling nonsense syllables, and getting into everything. She now melts down when things she's not supposed to have are taken out of her hands, but she is easily distracted, so she stops crying quickly. When we all went out to lunch, this was the first time I saw her in a plastic booster seat, in her own chair, with a paper kids menu and crayons. She didn't quite get the whole drawing thing (crayons in her mouth), but she did okay with drinking water with a straw. She is exactly 15 months old this week, so I think she is doing quite well developmentally. She was game to try all the foods put in front of her, even the mushrooms, Brussel sprouts, and salmon (insert barf emoji for that last one). 

Eventually she wore out, started dumping water on her chest, and zonked out in the car on the way home. We all felt that way. I slept half of the afternoon away, and ended up skipping game night so that I wasn't a Debbie Downer for the rest of the gang. This is how this day needed to be, and I fully embraced it.

Not Today

Inspirational song: I Was Gonna Cancel (Kylie Minogue)

We have officially entered the canceling plans stage of prep for Friday. We were all supposed to make a trip down to the Unicorn Ranch tomorrow, to take a young friend who wants to experience it. But communication wires got crossed, and the Mr didn't get the message that "we are cleared to go this Wednesday" actually meant "we have made solid plans to go this Wednesday and [friend] is coming down from Wyoming so we can all go together." He double or triple booked his day, and then the kids dropped out for needing a day off. The folks at the ranch are in the process of preparing for a convention in Denver, so they are also super busy. Once it came down to the Mr and I using loud panicky voices at each other about who didn't communicate with whom, I recognized that it was time to take that large time obligation off our plates. Our friend understands, I think, and they're hanging out with the kids tonight and will come over to visit us tomorrow. Pretty sure crisis was averted.

I enjoy seeing the cool people at the ranch, but there is just so much going on now. The drive to Vegas detouring through southern Colorado was hard on me, and the Mr was literally just in that part of the state again last weekend for the Gambler 500 off-road rally. I'm relieved that it will be delayed. I still have so many tasks around the house to complete, and I didn't have a whole day to devote to other things.

I also made sure I clearly stated to the Rotarian in charge of the sergeant at arms schedule that I would be gone next week and on weight lifting restrictions after that. I like being part of the small setup and takedown crew, and I help even when it isn't my turn. I will feel guilt and agitation not being able to do it for the next month plus. I'm sure once I'm allowed to move my elbows, I'll be carrying around the light things, like a banner or two, and the president's gavel. I think I'm out of the business of rolling out the piano from it's storage nook for a while.

Not Listening

Inspirational song: Working in a Coal Mine (Devo)

When I say I hate phone calls, I'm absolutely not kidding. When I enunciated very clearly that phone calls give me anxiety attacks that leave me depleted for days, and some are so bad, I can't do them for years (two and a half years in the particular one under discussion), it was rather infuriating to have that discounted and steamrolled over. I'm still on edge over my experience this afternoon, with someone who is in other ways helping me, who didn't listen, even when I had a full-blown panic attack and disconnected the call she was forcing me to do when I already told her I was under sensory overload before we started. "How are you doing in general," she asked, and then ignored me when I said that being off my meds for surgery is causing me incredible stress and pain.

Even though I skipped the worst call, I did power through the one to the insurance customer service (one rep and one manager), and got promising clarification on that bill I complained about last week. It's not resolved yet, but I have a better idea what the path forward actually is now. I should be able to get the bills covered, except for one standard copay. But damn, it would be a lot easier if I wasn't burning up with inflammation and lightheadedness.

Speaking of meds, once I was done with the awful calls I went by the pharmacy to discover what had been called in for me. Turns out it was the pain meds ordered by the plastic surgeon for Friday. I was a little worried that it would be a repeat of last surgery ("Who thought 800mg motrin was appropriate for surgical recovery, when I'm on a twice-daily prescription NSAID already??") Luckily it was a more useful scrip. And my total charge was 68 cents. Seriously. I don't quite know how to feel about that. I think health care costs are ludicrous in this country, but that's awful damned cheap for real painkillers that ought to be offered with caution.

Switches

Inspirational song: this is me trying (Taylor Swift)

I know I'm heading into a long stretch of days that will most likely result in short, uninspired blog posts while I'm recuperating from surgery. I didn't want to burn one of those skip days this early, but I kind of need one. I'm tired, anxious, sore, and I'm off all my meds save one, so I can feel my blood again. I know that doesn't mean much to most people without chronic illnesses. It means there is no square centimeter on my body without some overwhelming sensation right now, of either pain or nerve-jangling awareness. Trust me, it isn't a place I wanted to be again.

The girls came over for dinner tonight, and for Val to have a relaxing bath (while they still only have access to a shower not tub). It was nice to be distracted by cuteness, and not stew in the dread of yet another surgery in five days. Setting Val up by the microwave, so she can reach the light switch reminds me just how tiny toddlers actually are. I know I say this every week, but man, this is a fun age.

What's the Damage

Inspirational song: Since You've Been Gone (Rainbow)

Puppies are cute and all, until you go away for three days, and they develop separation anxiety, so bad that you go out to dinner and run through Walmart on the way home, and they freaking panic and eat your house. Or is that just my dog? I thought having our daughter stay here last weekend would be enough to keep harmony in the animal kingdom, but no. All of the bad chewing habits are back with a vengeance, just when I thought she was maturing out of them. Oh, no. Saoirse is determined to destroy everything in her path. I came home to foam chunks from the ottoman all over the carpet (good thing I planned to replace it asap) and the playpen destroyed. I knew I should have gotten it out to garage storage sooner.

The baby stayed with me this morning while my son-in-law borrowed the farm truck to take advantage of free drop-off day at the county landfill. (If only Saoirse could have ruined the ottoman one day sooner, I could have sent the remains with him.) I still can't convince Val to repeat that exaggerated version of "yes" from the video her parents sent, but wow did she show me lots of other cool tricks. That baby is smart. Last time she was here, I showed her how the light switches work, so she immediately made her parents give her access to the ones at home. She wanted to play with them again here, so we learned which switch controls which light. We also learned some switches don't turn on lights, they turn on loud fans above the potty. She wasn't sure she liked that one as much. When she wasn't being hoisted up to switch height, she was running all around, shoving handfuls of corn Chex in her mouth. Almost a year into this solid food thing and I'm still enjoying the heck out of feeding that baby. I must have been born to be a grandma. This is awesome.

My dinner out was longer than I'd planned, hence Saoirse's anxiety. My buddy and I needed to sit and vent about medical issues and how quickly our bodies are breaking down. We are kind of neck-and-neck for who has the most new diagnoses. It's nice to have a friend who can commiserate, but I'm getting a little stressed that she might pull ahead in the race. Even though you don't know who I'm talking about, do me a favor and think happy thoughts for less-scary test results for her this month.

Checklist

Inspirational song: Call Me (Blondie)

A day surgery nurse called this afternoon to give me some pre-op instructions. We were on the phone together for just shy of an hour. More than half the call was going over my medications (they had a bunch of old stuff to delete) and allergies. It's not fun being complicated. But eventually we got around to specific instructions for this next week. I know which pills to pause taking from here until recovery, I know when to stop eating solid food, and I now know that Coke doesn't count as a "clear liquid," but black coffee would. The nurse told me to arrive half an hour earlier than they wrote on my folder last week, and I told her that's for the best, because they are gonna h a t e my veins when it's IV time.

Even though I've gotten enough punches on my frequent surgery club card to qualify for a free one, she gave me a beat by beat description of what will happen on the big day. It was reassuring. A few of the procedures have changed in the time of Covid. Briefly they had loosened restrictions and allowed two visitors, but they are back to just one. That's fine, since I believe my daughter is working that day anyway. The Mr doesn't have to fail to sit still in a waiting room for three hours while I'm in the OR. He can go where he wants. Each of the surgeons will call him when they are done with their part, and the nurses will call when I'm either headed back to the final day surgery recovery room or admitted overnight. (They expect going home that day, but allow that I could need to stay if they find it is warranted.)

I have a few more days to prep my space for being out of commission for days. I'm trying to find frozen meals that I actually tolerate, so the Mr can feed me easily. I need to find some seasonally appropriate front-close shirts. Almost exclusively I buy pullovers for myself, and I have nothing comfortable for late August heat that zips up. And for real, I need to empty out the clutter from my bedroom. I've been putting off that last one for weeks, but it's getting urgent.

I'm writing all of this while the TV is showing exasperated doctors in Southern states frantically warning about hospitals filling up with Covid patients, leaving no beds for emergencies. They're canceling surgeries that can wait in lots of locations now. I'm not hearing of a crisis surge in Boulder County, so I assume I'm still on for a week from now. How fast might things change in a week in times like these? Time has no meaning anymore, so I can no longer tell whether that's a blink of an eye or plenty of time for stuff to go pear-shaped.

T-Rex Arms

Inspirational song: Leave It (Yes)

Yet another pre-op appointment in the books. This one was pretty interesting, partly because the physical therapist who works with the breast cancer recovery team is cool and fun to talk to, and partly because of the information she gave me. Last time I worked with her, I felt like the focus was on regaining my full range of motion after surgery. This time it seemed like it was a hundred percent zoomed in on lymph node recovery. I will have one or two removed on the right side, to match the one taken out on the left in 2019. Surprisingly, the PT said to expect to still get most of my blood draws and BP checks on the right, because my left arm is dominant. (Might need to switch to vaccines going in my hip from here on out. That might make flu shot season awkward.) 

The coolest thing I learned about the lymphatic system is that removing a node isn't necessarily the end of that drainage channel. If left to heal properly, the vessel(s) may grow to join up with a different node. How neat! I will do as I am told, and keep my arms down, especially during the first two weeks. (PT says the plastic surgeon likes to instruct us to use "t-rex arms.") I will not be allowed to do the sergeant at arms duties at Rotary for weeks, as that is entirely lifting stuff and hanging banners above my head.

The worst part of recovery will be not getting to do much with my baby girls. It will be bad enough keeping Saoirse from jumping all over me in the bed. How will I convince Val that I can't pick her up and cuddle her, not even once, before we'll into September? She really likes climbing up on grandma's lap to rehydrate with her sippy cups of milk. We watch videos on the iPad and she drinks and kicks me with her right heel. It's our thing. Her language skills are improving (she learned to say "yes" this afternoon), but this is going to be hard to explain. She will need supervised visits for the first two weeks. Or more accurately, I will need the supervision.