November 23rd 2008, Nitty Gritty

Writing an open journal has its drawbacks. My concern for the sensibilities of the reader have sometimes rendered me mute. There's a lot of gross stuff going on. You may choose to read no further or your curiosity may have you wondering. I will further confess, between the oxycodone(Percoset) and the Valium my thoughts tend to take strange and unexpected tangents which is fun for me but confusing for you. Sorry in advance but the requirement for pain management has far exceeded my expectations.

It really did seem like the worst thing I had left to contend with was the tube protruding from my right side about halfway between my armpit and my waist which had the nasty habit of leaking. When we headed down for last Tuesday's visit to the doctor it was with the anticipation of a child on Christmas morning. Something good was definitely happening today. I was to be "unplugged" (and left with mellower music?).Nothing could dissuade my enthusiasm.

I took a Percoset halfway down the two hour drive to Phoenix anticipating some discomfort. 30 minutes out, the pill Nazi hands me a second Percoset. "I already took one," I remind him but he says "just in case". He knows something, I think to myself. When the moment arrives, Dr. Mosharrafa tells me to take 3 deep breaths and then he pulls...and he pulls...and he pulls - the friction of 18 inches of plastic tubing rubbing against my raw wound. I'm left clinging to my husband, panting and in shock at what felt something like having a sword pulled out of one's side. But, like childbirth, its over and nearly forgotten. The left side is less shocking and soon. I'm free! It's an amazing feeling. I can shower!

When I tell Dr. Mosharrafa that Dr. Kato is fine with waiting on chemo until I'm healed, he seems very pleased. "Eight weeks," he says. "From surgery?" My husband asks. "From today," he answers. To heal or not to heal - that is the question of the day and tomorrow - etcetera etcetera(I'm hearing the King of Siam in my head). The party line is this: some women have thin skin which makes healing more difficult. It is meant to explain the numerous open wounds across my chest. The words "burn" and "cauterize" are no longer mentioned.

Dr. M explains that unlike our parent's(I'm probably old enough to be his) who believed in letting air dry the wound and form a scab, today's thought is to keep it moist and let it heal from the inside out. Eight more weeks of twice a day dressing changes, the task at which my husband's expertise is critically important. I ask Dr. Mosharrafa what chance he thinks I have of avoiding tissue expanders rejection. I've spoken with two friends who took a long time healing but finally did. "And that's exactly what I expect," he says. We walk out on a cloud.

Next we go to see Dr. Corn. She is mainly just curious since at this point I'm solely in the surgical care of Dr. Mosharrafa. She oohs and aahs about how great I look and how she's "seen much worse. This is nothing, you'll be fine!" I like her but I don't believe her. She would be more convincing on a cheer leading squad. I mean I believe I will heal but she makes me feel like she's selling it. "I skinned you good," she asserts proudly.

A friend of a friend has recommended another surgeon for a second opinion. The idea hangs in the air between us for a few days before we whittle away at the distance and agree we are not up to that battle at this stage.

We are so excited at the end of the "tubes and drains" chapter that we jump on the freeway and head home for a celebration dinner. However 30 miles from nowhere, Shoyei realizes we're out of gas(a first time experience for my 747 captain) so we call AAA and wait.

By the day's end, we're simply happy to get home.We settle into the routine of dressing changes. Shoyei performs his task with determined efficiency but his enthusiasm for the job has waned which I interpret to mean this is actually grossing him out. Or he is just exhausted. I sneak a peak and decide on the grossed-out theory. I think he is struggling to remember the girl he married with a full head of hair, eye lashes and eyebrows(mine have finally gone), smooth skin(he lovingly rubs lotions on my shoulders and back where I cannot reach and where a lizard scale has taken over), and this dessicated torso.

He reminds me of the occasion in Vietnam when he had to shove a man's intestines back in his belly and struggle to hold them there while they awaited medical aid. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do" - I smirk at the phrase, at the surprise I felt when my eight year old son stated it with such manly determination as he took his dose of asthma medicine. Shoyei is diligent as if it is up to him alone whether I avoid rejection.

I am having good days and bad days. One day I feel great, I exercise, eat well and get by on 1 1/2 Percosets. The next day I take 5 Percosets and a Valium, have no appetite and feel as if someone somewhere is working me over as a voodoo doll. Shoyei and I alternately analyze the possible reasons for my day-to-day condition. Did I lift something? Was the ace bandage too tight and therefore moving the expanders? Perhaps the fluid that is still leaking is in some sort of Ninja battle to keep the absorption "in house".

Anyway, I remain in a good frame of mind with a planned trip to Tucson for Thanksgiving with my daughter and her husband and the arrival of my son for an extended Christmas visit.

Day-by-day, Day by dayO Dear Lord these things I pray:
To see thee more clearly,Love thee more dearly,
To follow thee more nearly, Day by day by day by day.