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wooHOO! FREE AT LAST!

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Okay, so today SDXB drives me out to the Mayo, way to heck & gone almost to the freaking county line to have the hated drains removed, two days earlier than planned, given that they’ve both been producing less than 30 cc of fluid for the past two or three days.

WonderSurgeon is NOT pleased to see me. She doesn’t understand why I couldn’t wait until Thursday, when this event was originally scheduled, and said she preferred to wait that long.

Huh? It was HER NURSE who said WS wanted to get the things out in no more than a week and that it was TIME to do it, given the numbers. Oh well.

I said, “You’re the boss! If you want to do it on Thursday, I’ll be happy to come out then.” (LIE. But her internal lie detector clearly registered that one.) So she hauled the little b*stards out. She said it would hurt but it did NOT. She did it very, very fast. If she’d done it slowly I might have whined, but when she pulled each tube out in about 2 seconds apiece, I hardly even noticed.

She said I might get seromas from yanking the things this soon. But then she said I could get seromas if I waited until Thursday — she said you just never know. Whatever. Apparently a seroma is pretty easy to fix: they drain it with a needle. Everything I’ve seen on the Web suggests it’s pain-free — just a nuisance having to make yet another trek to the doc’s office.

Yanking them out was almost pain-free. She said it would hurt and then pulled them out counting to 10 as fast as she could speak: onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! It was fine. It might have been painful if she’d done it slowly, but she worked so fast the brain didn’t have time to notice.

I asked if I could dispense with the Iron Maiden. She thought so; said it was possible using it a few more days might forestall seromas, but no data said one way or the other. She also says you can throw the horrid stinky foam pads into the wash machine (!!) and even run them through the dryer. So I’m thinking I’ll probably wash them and use them under the horrid compression bra at night.

She said some women like the Iron Maiden because…I guess it comforts them. I don’t know. Probably if you’re used to wearing a bra most of the time it would feel good. I abandoned bras in favor of camis with shelf bras a LONG time ago, and so I find binding garments exceptionally annoying. I took out the smelliferous foam pads at her office and put on just the compression bra alone. But when I got home, I threw that thing in the wash and put on a brand-new no-shelf-bra cami from Costco. It’s soft and silky. It looks fine and it feels fine.

LOL! So, now I’m one of the boys, and I have a Duelling Scar to make the best of them turn green with envy. Looked at my spectacular self in the mirror, and such is the power of Ego that I do not feel one little whit bad about the flat effect. IN FACT, in my humble opinion it looks a lot better than a pair of boobs competing to see which one can reach my bellybutton first. Honestly, I do not think I’m going to feel bad about this for a minute. Or if I do, I will remind myself: No More Mammograms!

Yeah. Life is good. I suppose. After all. More or less. As it were.

First Fashion Statement!

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So Saturday a couple of friends wished to visit and go out to lunch. This is my first exposure to live humans who are not nurses, volunteer babysitters, or my hapless son. I’ve got to figure out what to wear that will accommodate the Grenade Sack and not look too, TOO bizarre. And I ain’t got many candidates….

I rarely wear button-up-the-front shirts. It’s too warm in the winter for flannel hunter-type shirts like we used to wear when we were young hippies. And in the summer…if you could go without a shirt at all, you would. Plus I wish never to iron again. Consequently, almost everything I have amounts to pullover T-shirts or various fancified equivalents.

Furthermore, I live in Costco jeans. It looks a great deal to me like fitting the bulky waist of Your Grandma’s Jeans under the Grenade Sack (which holds the grenade-shaped pumps for the Jackson Pratt drains)  is going to be hugely problematic. And where the damn drains are concerned, I wish to avoid “problematic” at all costs.

Complicating matters, the sky has clabbered up, it’s cold, and it’s starting to rain. The few shirts I have that do button are cotton.

I decide to put on an old pair of stretchy yoga pants, which I haven’t worn in years. Run them through the dryer to shake out the accumulated closet dust and ambient dog hair.

Top?  Oh god. Maybe an old, warm sweatshirt that I got at a tourist attraction about 15 years ago?

Decide I can NOT cope with a bulky thing that has to be pulled over my head. Also, I don’t think it will cover my tush, which no one in their right mind (or who wishes to retain their right mind) would want to see beneath the yoga tights. Ugh.

Finally in the back of an unused closet I find this white 3/4-sleeve smock thing that I picked up at B’Gauze, also years ago. It’s cotton. It is NOT warm. But it’s as long as a short dress (I think it was marketed as a “jacket”) (can not BELIEVE i bought this thing!). It looks like a big, flowy, floppy, ill-conceived artist’s smock. BUT…. It’s loose fitting. It covers the Grenade Sack. And it’s easy to put on and take off.

Problem is, the thing is white. The Iron Maiden and the Grenade Sack both show through it. Curious eyes will be awed and delighted.

It occurs to me that if I can get into one of my favorite Costco camis, it might provide some camouflage. And indeed this works: the cami does disguise the hardware. However…these are the old CC camis with a shelf bra, and the elastic band stretches right straight across the incision. Not good.

However, I’d bought a package of the new Costco camis, which do NOT have a shelf bra. Now that I have nothing to jiggle, I figure maybe I can wear these. I hope.. So I break through the consumer-proof packaging (it only takes ten minutes to unwrap the damn things), take out the off-white one, and very….very…VERY gingerly slide it on.

Damned if it doesn’t work. It not only doesn’t hurt, because it sort of secures the effing drain as it passes out of the Frankenstein torso into the Grenade sack, it seems to feel…uhm. “pretty good” is not the operative term, but “OK” would do.

And lo! It does hide all the junk (well…most of it), and it does not bind across the chest. The fabric, by the way, is MUCH softer and silkier than the old Costco camis. Once the incisions are fully healed, these things may actually feel very nice as undershirts. There are some possibilities here…i hope.

So. Here’s my first fashion statement of 2015…

Yrs in continual spectacularness,

—Twiggy

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Next on the Agenda…

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…is buying a car. Happy day.

Over at The Savvy Scott, Pauline describes her recent purchase of a Hyundai Tucson with 140,000 miles (!) on it. Pauline, the proprietor of Reach Financial Independence, evidently lives in Guatemala and decided to buy a car through an auction house in Orlando while vacationing in Florida, the costs being significantly lower and the chance of getting a decent car significantly higher when one buys in the US.

LOL! To say you’re less likely to get ripped off in Florida is to say something startling about Guatemala, eh? 😀

Later models of the Tucson are indeed very nice — it’s among those I’ve been considering — and Pauline is very pleased with her find. And she got a good price on it by purchasing at auction.

I’ve never bought a second-hand car from a dealer. My ex- and I got our Mercedes second-hand, but we bought it from one of his law partners. We knew where the guy lived. 😉 The prospect of coping with a used car salesman makes me shudder, and I can’t even imagine the risks entailed in buying at auction.

But given the outrageous cost of new cars, and the fact that they’re mostly equipped with so much unnecessary electronic frou-frou that you have to go back to school to learn now to drive one, I’m considering the possibility of a used car. One of my friends knows a car broker. If I can get him to give me a referral to that gent (and I don’t hate the gent), I’ll probably see if he can get me a late-model Toyota that comes with a six-banger.

Pauline points out all the perceived joys of buying second-hand: lower cost, less depreciation, lower insurance costs. In Arizona, we can add lower registration taxes, since these drop as a car ages. I can pay registration out of cash flow now; I’d have to draw down from savings to register a newer vehicle.

On the other hand…

If you drive your car until it falls apart, it will run for ten to twenty years (depending on how much you drive and how well you care for the vehicle). An old junker will have to be replaced in less than ten years — possibly less then five.

If you drive a car for ten years, you have ample time to set aside “car payments” in savings, accumulating enough to pay for the next car in cash.

If you buy new and keep the car for ten to fifteen years, depreciation is irrelevant. A reliable vehicle, such as a Toyota or a Honda, will give you your money’s worth over that period.

Over a fifteen-year lifetime, the cost of insurance and registration will drop into the sub-basement, whereas if you buy a five-year-old car every five years, these costs will never decrease significantly.

New cars tend to be safer, because they have up-to-date safety technology and because key components like brakes will not fail from age.

New cars come with warrantees, usually for 100,000 miles. Junkers do not — they’re pretty much guaranteed to cost you money for repairs.

A Hyundai that has 140,000 miles on the odometer may run for another 60,000 miles, give or take. That’s not very far. It certainly isn’t if you live in the US. Possibly it would be a good buy if you lived someplace that had decent public transit and amenities such as grocery stores within walking distance. But that certainly is not true in most US cities. Here, such a vehicle would be penny-wise and pound-foolish.

While I surely do resent having to pay more for a new car than my first house cost, I’m also uncomfortable with the downsides of buying a used vehicle.

I dunno. Maybe I’ll just get the Dog Chariot’s brakes fixed and try to coax it to run to 200,000 miles.

Giving Oneself Little Gifts

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What with the boobectomy still in the healing stages, walking the dogs is out. Wrangling them requires a lot of arm work: Ruby is still not well trained to the leash, and while she’s charging forward like White Fang at the head of the sled-dog team, Cassie poops out after about half a mile and starts to drag behind. So I end up with one dog pulling me forward and the other pulling me backward.

But I do need to get up and move around.

So yesterday and today, I decided to leave the dogs at home and go for a nice, quiet, SLOW stroll around the ’hood. No power walking: just ambling.

It was soo incredibly nice! The weather, now that the recent rain and frost have passed, defies belief it’s so gorgeous. And when you slow down, you end up seeing things you ordinarily miss and — get this! — actually talking with people. Isn’t that a quaint idea?

Working has come almost to a halt. And I’m finding that not too obnoxious: suddenly I have time to perambulate around at my leisure.

I enjoyed these mile-long strolls, quiet and undogged, so much that I’ve decided to give a solitary walk to myself as a gift. The dog walks normally take place after dark, anyway — there’s no reason that can’t continue once doggy-walks resume. But I’m going to take time out of my work every day to make a comfortable, non-athletic amble, and use that time to relax and unwind.

And why not, I say, why should we not give ourselves occasional gifts of this nature? Gifts that have the potential to improve life — preferably nonmaterial gifts. Not a thing but time, an activity, some privacy or some company.

What gift would you give to yourself? And why haven’t you done it?

Great News!

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Hallelujah, brothers and sisters! Just heard from the Mayo’s breast clinic: the path report came back NEGATIVE!!

By coincidence when the call rang through I was standing around fiddling with the required self-care procedures and thinking  “ooohhhhh i’m sooo scared the path thing is going to show an invasive cancer moooaaannnn!” 😀

She said the Innocent Boob was clear of any threatening cells; the Guilty Boob still had some residual DCIS, which is what we suspected. The margin was clear, and so it looks like the end of this little horror show is finally in sight.

woo HOOO!

Twiggy_promoAdmiring my new sylph-like self in the mirror, I believe I’ll change my name to Twiggy. 🙂 Remember her?

 

 

 

 

It LIVES…after a fashion

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Frankenstein's_monster_(Boris_Karloff)Gronk! I’m back! They ran electric current through the brain and the whole apparatus lurched to life!!!

We ended up scheduled for 10 a.m. yesterday, which meant it was noon before they rolled me off to the OR. The surgery went uneventfully and by the middle of the afternoon I was ensconced in a nice room at the Mayo Hotel Hospital. No roommate, thank goodness!

The Mayo staff are SO nice! It’s like being waited on by angels and archangels.

So far WonderSurgeon seems pleased enough with the outcome. We await results of the path report, which is always a worry…but she didn’t seem to feel too concerned. She didn’t take out any lymph nodes out; that’s how confident she is that there’s no invasive cancer in there.

But…ahem…we’ve heard the wind blow before.

At any rate, all in all it was as “pleasant” an experience as any such adventure can be. If I could dream up any complaints, it would be the food and the pillow. Bring your own pillow to the hospital! 😀 Theirs was small and hard, so that instead of cradling my head, it would let my head roll all the way over to one side or the other, so that if I dozed off I’d wake up to my neck stretched and hurting. Sort of like sleeping on a piece of lumber…

The food? Well…hospital food. One doesn’t fully grasp how terrible that is until one is confronted with it, so hungry one could cry, and finds the stuff on the tray is utterly inedible.

Wouldn’t you think in a medical establishment they’d serve you something other than salt and sugar? Last night they showed up with canned broth (salt with some chicken-flavored water added), this ICKY protein drink, two of whose top ingredients were sugar and corn syrup(!), JellO (ech! devoid of nutrition and vile to boot), and sugary lemon sherbet. This morning my head hurt from not having eaten in two days, and they served up these rolled pancake things — cold, with the flavor and texture of cardboard, along with still more sugary gunk.

When I said I just couldn’t eat that stuff, the sweet young orderly said he’d go downstairs and order something. He disappeared for two hours, during which time my son arrived, saw I was faint with hunger, and went downstairs for a bagel. By the time he got back upstairs, the young man had arrived with a pile of fresh fruit and a bowl of cottage cheese. And two slabs of salt with pork attached…uhm, pieces of bacon.

I don’t think I’ve consumed that much sodium in a month! How hard would it be to offer people something healthy for breakfast — fruit and cottage cheese (which itself is awash in sodium).

Luckily my friend Carol surfaced this afternoon with a beautiful salad and a dish of grilled chicken and fried brown rice with edame and veggies. Awesome!

It is extremely quiet on the Mayo’s hospital floors. If one weren’t attached to various monitors that beep and buzz to themselves, one could probably rest wonderfully there. I got about an hour’s sleep, maybe two, with with the machinery going off every 45 minutes or so and the nurse being required to come in about once every two hours to check vitals and surgical swelling. That was OK…I probably wouldn’t have slept any better in my own bed!

Anyway, it sure was a relief to get out.

In a week and a day, the drains come out (so it’s planned), and then, barring discovery of any stray cancer cells, I should be able to pass as human. Almost.