Surgery; take 3.

I was not happy about the prospect of a third, unplanned surgery. Not happy at all.

The infection I had acquired two weeks prior to the surgery had put me through the ringer.
Two days after I hiked up to the saddle of Olympus with Anna and Jade, I was a sick puppy. I was dizzy and hot, my skin was obviously red and awful, the bottom of my breast was accumulating fluid and felt as jiggly as a water bed, and my arm was severely painful, making laying down or sleeping damn near impossible.
Dr. Chen came in and took one look at it and said "Oh my God, what happened? It was looking so good!" I told her of my recent hiking escapade, saying that I thought that might have done it and she just shook her head and said "Oh my God..." again. It's never good when doctors say that.
She put me on antibiotics, told me to take it easy, for real this time, and to come back in three days and see if there was any improvement.

I went home morose and feeling like an idiot. I was furious for pushing myself into infection. I had gotten a facial two days before Olympus and was convinced she had worked lymph into my armpit where I no longer had lymph nodes to take care of it, and it had started the seroma. I hadn't felt good for two days or so after the facial, so I thought a good hike would whip me back into a good mood and hopefully help me sleep at night. I had been told to take it easy, that I wasn't 100% yet and maybe hiking peaks was not the best of ideas, but I had done that hike over 15 times before and felt that it was no big deal. So, so stubborn.

I was determined to actually rest this time, legitimately just sit on my ass, watch hulu and tv, read, play bejeweled, whatever-- just make sure that I wasn't pushing any limits. Rest has been difficult for me, and hard for doctors to accurately describe. When I originally asked Dr. Chen what kind of activity I could do post-op, she answered "Whatever you're up for, you'll know if you're ready for it."
Then, when she found out I had been hiking through the foothills, up above Red Butte, biking, routinely going on two hour walks, and attempting 6 mile hikes, she was shocked. Guess she hadn't anticipated that I would feel up to those kinds of things and began giving much more cautious advice.

Those three days were absolute hell. I haven't had a fever in years, at least not like this. The highest it ever got was 100.9 but it felt like 106. I felt like I was burning-- for a three hour period I was laying under a blanket mountain on a couch in my grandma's basement, staring at the ceiling, absolutely convinced I could hear my brain cooking in my head.
I was able to get moderately comfortable for a little while, drinking as much water as I could, constantly changing position because my arm was excruciating. But when I had to get up to go to the bathroom, whew, that was the worst.
As soon as I was up out of my blanket sauna, the cold air of the basement bit deep into my muscles and made my arms, back and chest spasm, making me cry out all sorts of colorful expletives, muted to a mutter so as not to offend my grandparents. I would also wake up with chills out of nowhere at strange intervals throughout the night and convulse under the covers. I've never had that happen, it was as though I was being electrocuted, everything tensed and flexed, then released and started over again. I sweat through outfit after outfit, made all my blankets damp and gross-- it was wretched. The epitome of sickness as I've ever known it, such sweet misery.

This is what it looked like one day before my second appointment with Dr. Chen. Effing frightening. At this point, I was fairly positive I would be going into surgery again and that she wasn't going to be able to put in another tissue expander. I mean look at it-- it looked like a lost cause.
I was imagining waking up from surgery with half of a flat chest, what all of my clothes would look like after that, what Sean's reaction to my freakish looking chest would be when he gets back; all sorts of speculation and worry just because my current situation was less than ideal. It's amazing how fast my mind can spin when left to its own devices.

The day I went to see Dr. Chen, I was feeling much better. I was actually able to walk around the house and maintain a stable body surface temperature, one that wouldn't have me shaking and leaning on walls. I could also eat solid foods without feeling as though I was going to vomit it right up. I had tried hard to force down food the past three days, but I had only been able to put away the equivalent of maybe one meal. However, I had maintained hydration diligently and my energy level was decent. I had lost 12 lbs in the three days but I was feeling oh so much better.

The antibiotics seemed to be doing something, the redness had gone down a little bit and I was able to move my arm and do day-to-day tasks with less pain. Opening the fridge, or lifting a teapot, or peeling an orange with my left arm still twinged with pain, but it was manageable and for the most part. I just pushed through it and that was fine.

This is what it looked like the day of my second appointment. Not bad compared to the first, eh?

Unfortunately, even though things had improved, it was still red and that worried her. Fluid had also built up in the bottom of my breast again. It was accumulating at the site where I used to have a drain that was removed because it didn't seem to be putting out much fluid anymore. Now the cavity was secluded from the site the other drain was working on, so it was just pooling, increasing the likelihood of further infection. More importantly, increasing the risk of infecting my allograft and making it useless. That little strip of skin cost $10,000-- I did not want to lose it to pus.
She said that it wasn't looking good enough and she wanted to operate. Open it back up, clean out the whole area, remove my tissue expander, salvage all she could, and attempt to put a new expander in. I agreed very solemnly, but I was happy to do anything that would make the pain subside and make reconstruction easier in the future.

This is how it looked the morning I went in for surgery 6/17/2010. The dermabond had finally started to come off of the incision for the first time, revealing what my scar would look like. I was so impressed! It was a hairline scar, really nothing at all-- it was absolutely beautiful!
I was sad to lose such progress, even though it was hurting me. I suppose I was worried the next scar wouldn't look as good.


I wasn't worried about going into surgery; I don't think I ever am. I was rather excited to use my port for the first time-- I wanted to know what being stuck in the top of my chest would feel like. Turns out it feels exactly like the nurse was pushing a thumb tack into my rib cage. Unfortunately, my port was embedded a little deeper than they were used to, so she had to puncture 4 times to get it in well enough to draw from it. I now have a very firm grasp of what using my port would feel like. Sheesh.
Dr. Chen was delighted when she saw how great my breast was looking: the redness had reduced significantly, the pooling at the bottom wasn't near as bad as it had been before (probably because I had slept on my side and leaked out 60 cc of grossness onto my bed), and my pain was better. She was optimistic that the actual expander wasn't infected, so perhaps it would just need a good cleaning and a new expander would go in just fine.

Turns out she was right. I woke up with the usual hellatious throat pain from them shoving that breathing tube down my gullet, but no troubles other than that. I sat in recovery for an hour or so, sipping water and trying to decide if I was nauseous or not. Turns out I was. Got an injection. No longer nauseous. A beautiful thing, that.

I wasn't in any pain, I had full range of motion in my arm, my pectoral seemed to be flattened out on top, no longer raised and bizarre looking, the expander was in a better position than the first time, and my incision looked leagues better. I couldn't believe it! It was as if she had taken away everything that sucked about my lame-o breast and made it better. Now that's how surgery should work.

My grandparents took me to Whole Foods straight from the hospital because I wanted fruit and yogurt. I snatched up a basket and bee-lined it for the produce. My grandmother walked worriedly behind me as I charged through the aisles, looking for what I wanted. I don't know why, but I usually feel fabulous right out of surgery-- I can imagine it's disconcerting to watch. Sorry grandma. :)

I went home and have been happily resting since. I feel as good as I did before I hiked Olympus, I feel as though I didn't have surgery at all. I can lay on my back, or either side now without wincing or cursing. My stitches are no longer loose and leaking so I don't wake up lying in disgusting puddles of pus and blood at 3 o'clock in the morning anymore. I even feel like I could do a push-up right now. I'm not going to, obviously, but I actually feel like I could! A beautiful thing, that.

Dad, Kelsey, Kaden and Lakota are visiting for the weekend, which is always so, so nice. I love them so, wish I could see them more often. Lakota is a blessing, his happy little face makes me burst out in laughter-- he's perfect. I believe we are going to go see Toy Story 3 or peruse one of my favorite bookstores. Not a bad way to spend a Friday.

Loves my dears.