From FREASTS to FOOBS: Part III: Recovery

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS GRAPHIC MEDICAL IMAGES and  one sexy image!

As my aunt wheeled me down the hospital corridor, I was mixed with emotions. Happy to be out the hospital… away from the substandard food, the constant interruptions from folks trying to get vitals, and from the inconsistency of great nurses and awful nurses. I would get to be in my house,  around my children, and the fact that I was being discharged meant that I was well on my way to recovery. But I was apprehensive, what if something went wrong? I had learned how to navigate my way from my hospital bed to the bathroom,  but  once again all of the research I had done indicated that I would have a hard time at home. It was recommended I get a shower chair, a raised toilet seat, and that I sleep in a recliner since I couldn’t fully stretch out.  (The recliner was and still is my best friend).

 The trip home left me depleted. With the help of my fiancé I got myself adjusted on the recliner sofa in the living room. That night both he and my toddler slept on the couch next to me. Every four hours my fiancé woke me up to take my meds so I wouldn’t have to be completely exposed to the pain. The next day, turned into two weeks of the monotony. Sleeping and awake at odd hours of the day and night; visits from my aunt angels, cousins, and good friends; meals being cooked and delivered; drains being emptied.

Oh the dreaded drains. The absolute worst part of this whole experience. Two hanging from each side of my upper rib to collect fluid from my Freasts (fake breasts) or what I now call FOOBS(fake boobs) and two hanging from either side of my hip to collect fluid from my abs. They had to be emptied and the disgusting fluid from them measured and documented.  Because of this, I wouldn’t need a shower chair, because I only took sponge baths. And I got to wear cotton old lady button up robes. Thankfully I had my aunt, and a very good friend who stepped in when the visiting nurse couldn’t.

courtesy of breastcancer.org

With all that was going on, there were some amazing facets of my recovery. First of all, I didn’t need that raised toilet seat. Turns out all those years of Pilates helped me build an awesomely strong core underneath that once thick layer of belly fat. It was much easier than anticipated. Secondly, I wasn’t totally freaked out by what I saw when I looked in the mirror. I mean, my foobies had no nipples, but still it wasn’t nearly as traumatic as I thought it would be. I think other people were more uncomfortable than me.

It was during this recovery I got to see who my real friends were. I was surprised by the number of people who reached out to me in some way, and disheartened by those who I expected would but didn’t. Still with so much love and support around me, I couldn’t dwell on it for more than moments at a time.

Each day I was more and more amazed at what my body could do, how it healed itself, regenerating cells and nerves and FOOBS!   

Perhaps the best part of recovery was 19 days after surgery when with the doctor’s clearance I was able to get dolled up and receive my 100 women of Color award for my work.  Not only did I receive an award alongside 99 other phenomenal women, I also  got my own holiday in my hometown! Sure I had to tiptoe around, sit while everyone else was socializing and I was exhausted after the 4 hour event, but  when they called my name, I strutted across that stage like my foobs weren’t still swollen, and my abs weren’t sore. Because that’s what you do once you dub yourself the Queen of Self-Esteem!

19 days post op... pretty sexy considering all that was going on underneath

The Journey doesn’t end here. Stay tuned as I continue on to the next stage of reconstruction on December 28^th. I'll get my Fipples 

 (fake nipples)