A little bit of surgery

I had a little bit of surgery today.  Some scar revision ("dog ears" and something I'm just going to call "one big step towards looking like a human"--I think my fellow BC patients and friends of BC patients will guess what I mean, anyone else who stumbles upon this blog and doesn't understand really doesn't need to.  And I'm certainly not planning to add to their ranks by adding dubious Google terms!

I've come to the point where walk in day surgery has become no big deal, but at the same time, I surprised myself over the past couple of days when I suddenly realized I was really anxious.  Hard to explain how I could feel both at once, but I sure did.

I wasn't really anxious about the procedure itself, but more about messing up my current run of fairly smooth healing and what I consider stellar results.  My plastic surgeon is, I have discovered after my first surgery, extremely gifted. 

I don't live my life in regrets, but I guess if I think on it, I actually do tend to live my life trying to avoid being regretful.  Which actually, when I put it down in words, sounds like one of those slogans that pop up on Facebook and get written in pretty script on walls and wood blocks.  But in real life, or at least in my real life, it tends to be more like, "be really, really careful and don't wish you still had whatever it is you just messed up."

And that, I think, isn't really print-it-on-a-block material!

So here I was with results I was very pleased with and could have lived happily with, at least as far as they went. and going in for the next step, and praying I didn't end up praying to be back to before (well, not really "before" because that's how I tend to think about pre-cancer, but you know what I mean).

But at the same time, I've discovered that it's really important to me to look more like I consider human being more of the time (not judging people who make other choices but this is mine, should also add that my husband couldn't care less).

And the really weird thing?  I'm all wrapped up for 2 weeks and can't even shower, much less see the results (which is really cute given all the surgical magic marker that covers me even under the clear plastic bandage pieces!).  And yet I feel better.  Much better.

I attribute that to two things:

1) My husband, who is exactly the kind of guy you want by your side when the going gets rough.  He was raised with a strong sense of the importance of doing what needs to be done (He emptied my JP drains twice a day the entire time they were in after the mastectomy.  He-man is all well and good, but give me a man who sticks by my side through sickness and health with love and compassion and I feel like that's a win.)

2) My surgeon coming in with his magic marker and carefully studying the placement of things.  His attention to detail and calm confidence helped me remember how it was with the first step.  I guess a little of that confidence wore off.

(Actually, seeing myself type these things, I may also have to attribute it to this morning's anesthesia.  They told me to avoid making decisions.  Seemed a little melodramatic but objectively I may be just a little bit off kilter at the moment so maybe there's more to it?)

So now, I'm trying to see if I can get away with Tylenol instead of opiates (I get very nausious and have headaches, but so far so good!), wrapped up in post-surgical bindings like the bastard child of Scarlett O'Hara and King Tut, and feeling pretty darn glad to have that over with.

Here's to a nice long life of looking more and more like the human I am!

(Now I hit publish and wonder how this post will seem to me when the anesthesia is fully worn off?)