Griping

My mastectomy bra hurts. It's digging into my ribs with a vengeance. I have to keep the left side packed to keep pressure on the incision, for 48 hours after the drain in my chest is removed. The drain is another fun part of this -- There's a drain pulling fluid out of the surgery site. I can't have it removed till I drain less than 25 cc in 24 hours. The last 24 hours collected 130 cc. That's a fun 3 times a day process, where I have to let Hubby strip the drain hose, and he has to try not to tug on the drain.

My pain management isn't great; right now I'm in tears waiting for the Percocet that I just took to start taking the edge off the pain. No pain is a fantasy that I can't even fathom. I can't get comfortable, because my favorite position for surfing the Web is on my left side, which even if my left arm could stand it, would be lying on the damn drain. I mistakenly thought I could cut back on the Percocet today, and just proved myself very wrong by bursting into tears at nothing.

The healing mood swings have started. I've spent today vacillating between happy, standard, and horribly depressed. Gromit has been pretty good at snuggling up to me when I feel lousy. Bridget has even given me Basset lovin's.

I'm glad the surgery is over and done with; I just wish I could sleep through the healing process. Actually, I kind of am; I wake up, and when I shift to a lying position to give my back a break, I usually fall asleep.

On a sillier note, the annoying "Mr. Barky von Schnauzer" commercial for Petsmart that I mostly see on Animal Planet has led to Bridget having the second name of "Howly von Basset." She doesn't answer to that, either. I can't imagine why not. There are several obnoxious ads on TV at the moment.

When I came home from the hospital, I had an Amazon box waiting for me. It contained the first two books in the Dresden File series, and the package was a gift from someone I didn't know. I wrote her a thank-you note, and she said she lurked on one of the lists I subscribe to, and my story had touched her heart. She also said she'd been intimately involved in the mess that is our current medical system and she sympathized with me.

Oh, and when I was in the hospital, due to a room shortage, they put me in a Suite! It's about $600 more a night for a Suite, and is usually occupied by wealthy folk who are having elective (or not so elective) surgery. The floor is staffed better than the regular floor, and instead of hospital cafeteria food, the Suites have their own chef. I asked his name, which seemed to surprise him. He'd give me my food and tell me to "eat up, you deserve it!" He was a total sweetheart. There was an HDTV in the room, a table, a couch that could pull out into a bed, a dressing mirror, and a recliner. I spent a fair portion of Wednesday afternoon and evening, and my waking time on Thursday, in the recliner. It was nice. Not an extra $600 a night nice, but a nifty luxury to be bumped up to.

Ok, the meds are starting to hit, so I'm no longer in tears. I'm just remarkably uncomfortable. But my left arm, while sore and having an odd burning sensation on the back armpit, appears to be in pretty decent shape -- I can lift it and even hold it over my head, though not for long.

Mostly, I'm bleah. But I think it will get better. I hope.