I, Wonder Woman

Finally, after 4 months I am able to sit down and write about what  was (I am claiming it) my last surgery. Honestly this one was so much more traumatic that all of my previous surgeries, so much so that I have avoided writing about it. There was no comical spin to put on it, and I still struggle finding  a positive spin ( other than the fact that I’m still alive).  Initially I was supposed to check in Friday, and be home by Monday, Tuesday the latest. I planned accordingly, making sure I did laundry, cleaned the house, arranged for childcare and pick up of my then 5 year old. In my  mind, I was thinking, nothing is as extreme as my previous surgery. That was 15 hours of surgery, this would be like 6, no more than 8. This was only my stomach, not my stomach and breasts. It would be a breeze, I was ready for it…or so I thought. My surgeon after all, told me she was the "Hernia Guru" and I love a confident women. I especially love that she showed up in a Wonder Woman surgical hat, and matching socks. Wonder woman is my ring tone, Wonder Woman is kick ass. We were gonna kick that hernia’s ass. And she reminded us of how Lucky a day it was 7/7/17 !!!! Then she started explaining things. As I heard the words epidural, catheter, my blood pressure shot up like 30 points on the monitor and I had to breathe it out. As afraid as I was there, was no turning back. 

My aunt took this picture as I tried to stay calm listening to the surgeon

The surgeon would make a vertical incision from the middle of my ribs to my pubic bone. In a procedure called component separation, she would cut muscles from my obliques on both sides, stretch them to build a new abdominal wall. Then, to secure the newly stitched wall,  attach a mesh all the way from my ribs to my hip bones before sealing me up. Below is a diagram.

Initially when I woke up, the pain was much more intense than what I thought it would be. So they drugged me up with Morphine, a few other narcotics that put me to sleep, but that was all they did. I was still in pain. They wanted me to ambulate, but I was in so much pain. When they allowed me to eat, I couldn’t because I was in too much pain. On top of that I had a fever for about 2 days.   On the 3^rd morning after my surgery, I attempted to give myself a sponge bath because I was tired of having people wipe my ass, and bathe me. I needed a new surgical binder that wasn’t stained with crusty blood. The pain was so excruciating that when my aunt (who thank God was also my nurse for the day) knocked on the bathroom door to ask how I was doing, I broke down into weak cry., a whimper. Boy, was it humbling to have my aunt, who used to change my diapers, have to bathe me…everywhere. 

She handled business and then an X-ray was ordered, and an enema… perhaps I was constipated (which is worsened by narcotics). While she set up my bed, I eased into the hospital chair. Suddenly I became overwhelmed with nausea and began violently vomiting bile. My aunt had to hold the bag, so I could support my stomach as it was jerking involuntarily.  Horrific pain. Apparently, I had an ileus, or what they call bowel obstruction. A serious one. It appears my digestive system had never fully awakened after surgery, which explained the reason oral medications were ineffective; they were not being digested. Everything was stuck in my stomach and esophagus. It made sense, I was swollen everywhere and my skin was clammy and discolored.

   Within the next 10 minutes my aunt was holding me down as another nurse stuffed a tube up my nose and into my throat while I gagged and cried. For the next 24 hours, the NG tube would pump my digestive track of everything and my stay at the hospital would be extended while my digestive functioning was observed. Which meant 24 hours of nothing, followed by 24 hours of liquids, and 24 hours on solids for a total of 3 more days.

Recovery at home was equally tough the first few days. Last time I had major surgery I had a live in partner who could help me. This time on I was my own with bathing (2 weeks before I took a real shower), letting things fall to the floor because I couldn’t pick them up, and the constant pinching of drains.  It was sleepless nights, and spells of helplessness The worst part was eating, because the peristalsis was excruciating, I felt like I could feel every bite of food work its way through my body for at least 2 days. 

check out the hernia through my dress.

                                   side angle of the hernia before surgery

              I found it so much more difficult to focus on the positive this time around. Yes the hernia was gone, but at that time it meant a shift in the type of pain I experienced. Because I feared any further intestinal problems, I rejected narcotics for pain management and stuck with ibuprofen and Tylenol. Ouch!

           

Over the last four months my body has been amazing all over again in regaining its strength and stamina. I’ve swallowed tears of frustration when I returned to my workout and couldn’t do anything, or I was so exhausted from jumping back into work, I’d get nauseous.  For a year and half I tried to cover this massive hernia, but now I’m trying to disguise my belly which now only looks about 4 months pregnant. It still feels tight and sore on extra busy days at work, and my ab power is severely diminished but I’m forcing myself to remain patient and remember that in due time, the swelling will decrease, the strength will increase, and while I’ll never be the same, I’ll feel confident in my physical appearance and power again. And if I’m lucky, one of these days I’ll see the lesson in all of this. I thought I mastered body gratitude, life gratitude, patience? Well, it's not mastered, but I've had many lessons. What do you think is the possible lesson? I Wonder.

Left top- hernia, Right top-1 week post op, bottom left- 2 weeks post op, bottom right- 2 months post op

Check your Bags

 My work with young people who have experienced trauma has opened my eyes to the traumatic experiences that many adults (friends, family and strangers) have dealt with and continue to do so daily. This ability to empathize with their struggles has made me much less judgmental and a better listener and understanding my own trauma is why I choose to do what I do. I write about it in more extensively in my memoir. But there are so many people who have yet to address their trauma and it’s a detriment to their health and happiness. Some people drag their baggage around everywhere they go, some try to force others to carry their load. Then there are those who wear all of it like they are trauma brand models.  Oh, and let us not forgot who try to disguise the baggage as fancy accessories, concealing the pain and hurt. In the end, none of it does us any good. While everyone is not going to go for their checkup from the neck up as I previously suggested, there are steps you can take to begin to unpack.

1.   Be present-  Especially when you are about to make a decision. What is it you are doing or are about to do? Pay attention to your body’s physical response and ask yourself why. As someone who struggled with eating disorders in the past this has helped me significantly with my emotional eating.  I ask myself why I really want to order Chinese take out, is it because I’m stressed out about work, or a project? Possibly feeling resentful towards someone? Or is it because I’m hungry and I haven’t had any in a while and I really just want some beef teriyaki?

2.   Reflect instead of deflect- Particularly after a conflict or in a moment of regret. Have you looked at the situation from the other person’s perspective? Was there something you could have done or said differently (in my case it has been that maybe I shouldn’t have said anything)? Ask that WHY once more. Why did you respond that way? What were you feeling? Were you hurt or embarrassed? What were you trying to obtain in that moment?

3.   Reframe your negative experiences- I actually have a full workshop on how to do this. It’s basically the step following reflection. You try to determine the lesson in the experience and find a silver lining. You got laid off?  Perhaps it’s because it’s time for you to chase that dream you’ve been putting off? How has your pain helped you become stronger, or set a positive example of resilience for others?

Our baggage plays a major role and how we came to be who we are today but it doesn’t have to dictate who we will be tomorrow. That is totally up to you!

Body Image Revisited

The body image saga continues.  If you’ve read my memoir then you know that starting as early as 11 years old I struggled with body image.  I thought I was had finally conquered it in mid twenties, even if I was close to 250 pounds. I mean I deemed myself the Queen of Self -Esteem! For about 10 years after that, I was in a really good place. I had mastered posing so that the camera hit all of the right angles. I had come to love all of my flaws, finally accepting my lumps and bumps, and really focusing on what I loved about my body. Then 2015 came and I’d have to come to accept a new body. Just as I’m starting accept the fact that I have no feeling in my breasts (which I have now decided to call NOOBS -new boobs), and get happy that the foot and a half long scar across my abdomen is fading,  my incisional hernia enlarges and that’s ALL am able to see. I’m cognizant  of it all day long. Aside from the extreme physical discomfort, I find myself double checking mirrors and buying shirts that disguise the massive bulge protruding from my right lower quadrant. I haven't been this self-conscious when getting dressed in so long, it feels awkward. But it’s really because I do in fact feel self-conscious. And why? I  have yet to understand why this insecurity has crept back in my psyche. I mean before the surgery I gained like 50 pounds, and after the surgery I walked around for 6 months with no nipples or areolas? Why am I tripping?  I had no answer, so last week I decided to get back in the gym ( I have to keep it extremely light until and even months after my next surgery). It made a world of difference, because after one session, I was reminded of just how powerful and amazing my body is. Each chest press made me feel more and appreciative of my body and its journey. It reminded me that this shit is temporary and aesthetic. What matters is keeping it healthy for its next healing challenge! Here we go!

Jumping the Gun: More Fipple problems

It's almost six o'clock on a Saturday and I've just been able to peel myself off the couch...kinda. I was so excited to finally see my new fipples, which look like they will be great once all these stitches dissolve. This was exactly one week after my surgery. My surgeon removed all of the bandages and instructed me to lubricate all of my wounds.

With bandages...don't they look perky? Relax they'll drop some later, but they are smaller

He used skin from underneath my foob to create the fipple

Here I am all oiled up. Can you imagine wearing a bra over this?

He forewarned me that it would be tricky finding the right bra for now, and for some reason, I didn't quite absorb that until I tried to actually wear one. On one hand I was told not to wear anything that could flatten out my new nipples, like the sports bras and  tanks with built- in bras I've grown to love. Then with my lovely  stitches in the uncomfortable spot underneath my breast, no underwires, or hell, any kind of bra. With my green light to go back to work I surely couldn't show up with my headlights beaming. So day one I wore a cupped Victoria's  Secret bra to allow room for my fipples. Unfortunately my day was filled with anguish. Firstly, I was back to driving and turns and backing out hurt all over. Secondly, that expensive ass bra sucked! It cut right into my sore spots, and it wasn't as supportive as my surgical tube top, so every time I bent down...ouch.
 After work I did what he had suggested in the first place, I got some nipples protector cups; the same ones for breast feeding mothers. i wore those with my go to sports bra and it was a better. However, by the end of the day, I was sore from the nipples protectors. Those things are not meant to be worn for 9 hours! So here I am exhausted from only 3 days of work, and uncomfortable unless I'm laying with pillows propped under my arms. It's surprising and disappointing to me
because week one went so well with the bandages and the tube top. No bra= no support, bra= support but flat nipples, or support but pain to my stitches. So I'm laying here for this reason and because  I'm tired. It I may even be slightly depressed; not at my fipples, because they are awesome, but because I'm not 100% and everyone that knows me, know I hate to slow down. I just have to remember that this is temporary, and by summer I'll be more back to normal. Damn Patience!

Ok..So I'm still talking about My surgery!

Every time I deal with something that tests my patience, I think, this is it. This is my final exercise in patience. And it never is. Well  I can honestly say that recovery is truly a journey of patience. As I began to feel better and look better, I wanted to do so much more.  6 weeks after surgery I walked 3 miles for Breast cancer awareness and I felt great!

Me with my toddler right by side. I wore my compression belt and yes my face was pale from anemia

That was one of the many up and down moments. Down times like hating the feel of the compression belt, but loving it after trying to clean the house without. It was my comfort and my anguish. This was the same with the sports bra. My mind wanted to wear a nice underwire bra, but my body (and the doc) said hell no! Then there was the body dysmorphia. With so much going on physically, like that tingly  achy feeling in my foobs, who has time to be concerned with them being perky  and having  a flat tummy? Leggings have also offered a solace that jeans or pants with buttons couldn’t offer. My wardrobe was limited.  I was more self-conscious than ever with nipples foobs, great abs, an 18 inch scar, and pale skin my energy was limited. Every time the visiting nurse came my pulse was extra high, like 108. Apparently normal resting is between 60 and 100. Turns out I was anemic from losing so much blood during the surgery, nothing steak and eggs couldn’t handle.  What was most daunting was awaiting for that moment where I would be 100% (which by the way, still hasn’t happened yet).  Whenever I was about to hop on my pity train, I’d write on a pink slip something I was grateful for and put it in a jar one of my good friends got me.  It kept me focused to think about small things like, finally being able to bend over and pick up something off the floor, or to put a shirt of over my head. My awesome visiting nurse would remind me constantly that this was a journey and it would take more than 6 to 8 weeks for me to truly heal. I was forced to listen to my body, to sleep on demand, to eat on demand (apparently you can sometimes become ravenous as your body uses its energy to heal).

                 But then I returned to work, and I once again I had to adjust. No more sleeping when I ready, resting when I was ready. I was back and there was work to be done…lots. Teachers don’t sit behind a desk! We stand and walk (about 3 to 4 miles a day… I wore a pedometer just to test), we speak a lot and loudly (which requires oxygen).  We get excited, angry, and disheartened, sometimes all in one class period. And because you “look good” people think you are 100% both at home and at work! So it’s back to housework, and mommy work, and errands and and and  and.  AND…I’m still healing. Sometimes I get achy, some nights I return to my couch for a better night’s sleep. Sometimes I have to opt for my chaise lounge over attending social events (which really sucks). Or, and this just happened last week, I can return to boot camp and kick ass only to have awful, extraordinary soreness and pain two days later.  It’s times like these that I can quickly spiral into a funk. Especially knowing I’ll have to go one more surgery right after Christmas. Thankfully, most times I am able to pull myself out of this negative space. I have to remind myself, this is a choice. Always, a choice I had that other women in my family didn’t. With that being said, let the countdown to FIPPLES begin! And another lesson in patience as well.

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)