Chapter 27: Blackened

One week post-op. I’m feeling pretty good in general. My body is sore, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Both my spirits and my energy level are high. I’ve spent this first week crocheting while going down streaming rabbit holes, searching for obscure movies and TV shows. One of my favorites being “Nightbitch”, based on a novel by Rachel Yoder, starring Amy Adams. I’d put it in the category of relatable Black Comedy with a horror vibe. In a nutshell, it’s about an installation Artist who gives up her career just as it’s gaining momentum in order to be a stay-at-home Mom. The story illustrates her feelings of lost identity & wasted talent, her pursuit of new meaning & purpose. There is much more to this story, but I’ll shut my trap to avoid being a spoiler. You’ll just have to watch it…you won’t regret it!
I’m wearing compression garments 24/7 (chest and abdominal)…only to be removed while showering. Showering allows me to check the state of my bruising, which is still gnarly. It is the worst bruising I’ve seen in my lifetime. Even my lady parts are deep purple, due to blood pooling. But, I’m told this is very normal, and to be expected.
I keep this in mind upon noticing that the bruising on my reconstructed breast (the mastectomy side) is starting to appear darker, while the bruising on my augmented breast (the healthy breast) is fading. I’m sure this is all part of the healing phase, no need to worry.
11 days post OP, and I’m feeling like my recovery is reverting, I’m going backwards. I feel like total shit, and I can’t seem to get comfortable no matter what position I’m in. The pain is deep and all encompassing. I can’t muster the energy to do anything other than breath. I can’t even stand to look at my iPhone, the light from the screen hurts my eyes…reading nauseates me. The bruising on my reconstructed breast looks far worse now than it did a few days ago. Once again, I convince myself that it’s normal and carry on. As evening falls, the urge to vomit becomes harder to suppress, so Brian gives me an anti-nausea pill that the surgeon sent me home with. The pill was useless. I hurled my guts out like Regan MacNeil in the Exorcist….multiple times throughout the night. Early the next morning, Brian calls my Surgeon in Rochester to report what was happening, and to seek her guidance. She tells Brian to get me to the Emergency Room in Red Wing immediately. We arrive to the ER, and to our surprise, they wheel me back to an exam room before we even had a chance to sit in the waiting room. Red Wing Mayo ER is notorious for making patients wait multiple hours before being seen. I have a hunch Rochester may have called Red Wing to tell them I was in-route, why else would they act as if the were prepared for my arrival?
The first order of business is an IV to pump fluids back into me. They also give me an intravenous antiemetic (anti-vomiting agent), and an intravenous painkiller. I don’t know what painkiller they are giving me, I’m too sick to retain all they are telling me. I just trust they know what they are doing. Well, whatever they gave me worked, because I’m feeling like a normal human again at a pretty fast clip. The nurses and attending physician run through a barrage of questions, and test me for a multitude of infections and viruses. The testing came back negative for all suspected causes. I was clean as a whistle. They do have one theory, though. Just a couple of days prior, Brian was hit by a stomach bug that gave him the old Hershey Squirts. It was suspected that I may have caught that same bug, except the evacuation came from the other end. The attending physician took off my abdominal compression garment to check my healing progress. He makes note of the dramatic bruising, but says it’s normal. He opts out of examining my breasts, assuming they were healing at the same rate. Once I’m stabilized, I am sent home with no aftercare instructions other that to stay hydrated and take it easy.
14 days post op: Off to Rochester Mayo I go for my first post-op follow up with Plastics. My reconstructed side looks like a blackened chicken breast with a single pepperoni slice in the center (nipple joke..I’m hilarious!). The healthy augmented breast look perfect. I cross my fingers that the surgical assistant will tell me it looks normal, but my instinct screams otherwise. My instinct proves to be right. The surgical assistant’s face drops and she audibly gasps as she examines me. It’s a hematoma…and a bad one. It could very well require another surgery to correct. She grills me about my physical activity, assuming I deviated from my physical restrictions. I tell her the only thing I’ve been doing is crocheting and watching Netflix. She tells me that crochet is absolutely off limits, as it is far too much repetitive motion for my upper body. The surgical assistant left the exam room to talk directly to my Plastic Surgeon, Dr. V, to determine the next steps. I forgot to tell her about my Exorcist-level vomit marathon, shit! As soon as the assistant reenters the room, I fill her in on the vomiting episode from a few days prior, and she responds: “Yes, Dr. V told me she instructed you to go the ER in Red Wing for a vomiting spell. She believes this is what caused your hematoma: the pressure from the violent vomiting burst your freshly cauterized veins.” The plan of attack: HEAVY compression on my reconstructed breast and ZERO physical activity for the next 2 weeks. No crochet, no typing, no writing…and of course, no housework or exercise. I cannot let my blood pressure exceed 100 bpm (which is tricky considering my resting heart rate is right around 90 bpm). My surgical assistant tells me I can read books and watch TV…and that’s about it. I’m instructed to come back in 2 weeks for another follow-up. If the hematoma does not show signs of resolving itself, I will need another surgery to scrape out the old lingering blood, and swap out the existing implant for a new one. She went on to explain that I may develop a capsular contracture (scar tissue) in the reconstructed breast, so she prescribed a medication proven to prevent it in some patients. I’m sent home feeling defeated and imprisoned by the severity of my physical restrictions. What the fuck! How the hell and I supposed to entertain my brain for the next 2 weeks? I can’t just sit and do NOTHING!!!
I manage to develop a routine of Do-Nothingness during this time. I power through a bunch of books which had been collecting dust for the past few years. The books I buy, but never get a chance to read…well, they finally get their time in the spotlight! It’s nice having an excuse to actually READ my books, rather than relinquish them to the Dust Bunnies. These two weeks are turning into a fun cognitive adventure.