Decidedly Obscure Human Complaints.

After working from home on a recliner chair in jammies for a week, I returned to the office yesterday. Wee!

I’d predicted that the worst case scenario would involve my being an idiot and trying to lift shit when I shouldn’t - but, that didn’t happen. Instead, the worst case scenario turned out to be the bro shake. I hadn’t realized how often this happens in my world… or maybe just on a college campus (and elsewhere?), but there’s a LOT of grab-hand-hard-and-shake-arm-or-fist-bump-or-variations-of-this going on. To which I’d whimper and respond, “Ooo, careful. I just had surgery.”

This happened about five painful times. “Hey! Haven’t seen you around in a while! How have you been??” *hand flies out towards mine, grab, firm swing while my hand flops around like a flaccid fish*.

There was one feller who bounced in to the office while I was in there with a couple other student government peeps. He was in student government last year and I shared a class with him. When he went in for the bro shake I diverted with, “Just had surgery. No shaking for me.” He of course asked, “Surgery? What for?”

Me: “Chest…”

Him: “Chest? Did they operate on your heart or something?”

Me: “No, no! Top surgery.”

Him: “Top surgery?”

Me: “Yes. To get rid of my breasts! So relieved!”

With this, he was clearly caught off-guard. His mouth literally fell agape and his brow furrowed as he tried to process my response. Meanwhile, in my neck of the woods, I replied with, ya know, the honest reason that I couldn’t shake his hand. If I’d dislocated my shoulder skating along a sidewalk or something, I would’ve blurted that out instead. But, when it’s presumed that I’m a cisgender feller and I reply, “My boobs are gone!”, clearly there’s a whaaaaa puzzle pieces clicking cognitive disconnect going on. 

Fortunately, instead of feeling compelled to elaborate and before he had a chance to respond, we were interrupted by someone else in the office asking me questions about something on the H:\ drive something another. And then he had to run off.

a.w.k.w.a.r.d.

Earlier today I learned that Dr. Cori Agarwal’s medical secretary, Haley, was able to come in and take photographs during my 3 hour surgery on August 11, 2011. I had asked her to 6 months ago and, fortunately, Dr. Agarwal also wanted her to come observe this type of surgery. Double-win!

As a warning, these photos are extremely graphic, but also incredibly informative and educational. This is why I’m displaying them after the “read more” button below instead of as a photo gallery. Proceed with caution!

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Earlier today I learned that Dr. Cori Agarwal’s medical secretary, Haley, was able to come in and take photographs during my 3 hour surgery on August 11, 2011. I had asked her to 6 months ago and, fortunately, Dr. Agarwal also wanted her to come observe this type of surgery. Double-win!

As a warning, these photos are extremely graphic, but also incredibly informative and educational. This is why I’m displaying them after the “read more” button below instead of as a photo gallery. Proceed with caution!

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Earlier today I bravely ventured forth into the world twice. First in the morning with my dad for coffee nearby. Then all inspired and confident in my outdoor adventuring abilities, downtown for vegan hot dogs with Andrew and Aaron! I had envisioned a grand 2 hour adventure of sitting and chatting - but, in reality, I made it 45 minutes before whimpering for Andrew to drive me home so I could nap.

But more exciting than those 45 minutes? Tomorrow I get these pesky drain tubes and bandages removed! Can’t wait!

On a side note, the nurse warned me that the compression vest I’d have to wear after surgery was, verbatim, “one size fits none”. Fortunate for me, it’s apparently a “one size fits one” - me! It’s a perfect fit and hasn’t caused me any discomfort whatsoever - especially in comparison to the world of binding I’d grown used to over these past couple years.

The pressure is similar … but without any breast tissue underneath being compressed. Which is such, a foreign and exciting relief. I can’t imagine how great it’s going to feel to have this vest removed Wednesday and to let my skin breathe and to actually see and feel my new chest.

For the first time yesterday and especially today I’ve begun to feel tingling and “jolts” under my bandages as my nerve tissues heal and fuse and … joy.

My father just spontaneously transferred some photos from a USB stick of his on to my netbook. Photos from Thursday and Friday - none of which I remember. Well, except for this first one.

This one I remember. Pre-Op, in the waiting room with my parents. Getting poked with my first intravenous drip ever was the scariest part. The first attempt in my hand didn’t work out, due to some valve don’t-wanna situation going on. Fortunately, Nurse Arlene was super distracting and comforting as she poked me in my left arm instead.

I do not remember this one. At all. First Post-op Picture EVER! Where’d ma boobies go??? My earliest memory was of Nurse Arlene (above) giving me a popcicle. And of almost vomiting on the car ride home after I’d pleaded for my father to pull over for coffee.

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At the rate at which I’ve been spoiled throughout this recovery… I’m tempted to come up with excuses for a major surgery every week! For example, whenever I sit on my recliner chair I obnoxiously whimper: “help. help. help. help.” and my adorable mom will come lift the foot rest for me. Which I quite literally can’t do on my own - but still, she does this for me about a hundred freaking times a day and night. And then places a furry blanket on me. It’s a disturbing sight and I’m above and beyond lucky to have my parents and kitties and pup here for me.

I also don’t have a choice. For example, the other night I woke up around 4 am, as my mom seemingly slumbered in the recliner chair next to mine. I didn’t want to wake her, so I did my best to slowly lean forward and to quietly lower the foot rest (I can lower it, just can’t pull it up). As I stood in the darkness I suddenly hear: “What’re you doing? Where’re you going? What do you need?”

There’s no escaping the radar of a mother, that’s for sure. It’s like I’m post-op James Caan in a really distorted, lovey version of Misery.

My dad got me soy pudding and yogurt, gummy bunnies, split pea soup (for the much-needed pain-killer fighting fiber!), and minestrone soup… I have seasons 3, 4, and 5 of Dexter, kitty cuddles, video games… this is just, messed up. My parents are pretty much the best care takers ever.

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