I'm pretty sure your lovey isn't like my lovey

The Lovey in question here is my daughter. That's what I call her because I'm her mama and allowed to make up names she might not like so much.

Yesterday for "operation get dead rats outta my left boob side" lovey was right there. To help me out the door (member I'm slow) waiting for me to take selfies. To accompany me making sure I don't flee the scene, to stick around for hours in a boring hospital waiting, to reassure me many times in her calm lovey voice that I don't stink like a dead rat. This she reassured me of several times. I know because I would open up my shirt or if I happened to even move my head in that direction I would yell out to say urrgghhh or bleeee or dee sgusting!!! Then ask each time lovey! are YOU sure lovey??!!

Yes, mama I'm sure she would reply. No, mama you don't smell or no, mom you don't smell like a dead rat. That last reassurance was because I asked her to be specific. She has a special voice for me when I ask her things. Some serious, silly or downright childish entirely due to who I am and always have been as a person. It's the voice I'm perfectly aware she will use when I'm old, at the sunny shades nursing home and I tell her that Bertha down the hall is stealing my chocolate that I don't like Bertha because she's smelly and I'm sure she doesn't brush her teeth. She will use that kind loving patient voice then as she does now.

Before we went off we stayed a moment in the parked car. I looked at her to ask her to make some promises to her mama. Because I wanted to be absolute sure about viral videos or repeating silly stories of me loopy I tell her: lovey no videos right? She laughs. no mama no videos. For added emphasis I touch her arm gently, pat it and say: we must be united in this front my daughter. ( ya know in case she forgets I'm her mama) or if the situation is so daing funny all bets are off with me yelling dead rats dead rats after surgery and she needs proof it happened. Again she reassured me.

Oh my gosh, why would that lovey girl or anyone in her family do that to this poor women with "the cancer"??? I imagine you saying in your high very sweet all naive voice as you read this.

Well my folks its because I have been laughing my ass off for over 20 years when:  people's pants fall down accidentally (yea right), when they fall or smack into doors or glass doors or just trip over stuff. I beg and implore those whom I love dearly to never ever do stuff like that or fall around me. I am that person who will laugh, I am that person who might or might not even try to hide the terrible fact I am laughing, then straight up do a sorta snort laugh cough while asking are (laugh) you (snort laugh) ok?!? I may even have told a few stories of when lovey came out of sedation about things she said. I'm just an inappropriate laugher, one day I shall pay dearly for it but am hoping it wouldn't be day of surgery. Hence my need for reassurances.

Once when a family member walked into a glass door I laughed for like an hour, I wasn't alone in laughing though but I'm sure I was alone in the fact that days later I would recall the image and bust again laughing. Yuuup, write that down people. Lolita swears like a sailor/truck driver and laughs when people could be hurt. I'm not proud of this I'm just saying and helping you understand where my concerns are coming from.

Well my Lovey my dear daughter true to the wonderful person she is never once did any such thing and or even hinted at it.

With nurses checking me in, noting my vitals it got pretty silly, you see I have been at that surgery center more than a few times now, I have some gals who enjoy me and we laugh and laugh while they do their Lolita check in. During serious question part I see a handsome very well dressed man in a suit walk by I interrupt nurse to ask...oh my who is that?! The nurse 2 who attempting an IV insertion at that time said who who??! While she pushes curtains back to look. Nurse 1 without missing a beat says out loud oh Doctor such and such, my patient would like to meet you. Delicious man in suit comes over to meet me, shake my hand while I say wow you look like you smell good. He laughs and says what do you need done, I'll do it looking me up and down joking. He's a plastic surgeon so nurse 2 says oh I'm sure we will think of something. Meanwhile at nurse station behind him gathers a crowd to peer over at this scene. When he leaves I say to nurse 1 really? You stinker. She cracks up at me saying to him that he must smell good and there it goes for the hour they finish checking me in. Patients and nurse or assistants peer over often to look at what is so daing funny in our little bay.

Soon my lovey is allowed to join the party and come sit with me. Doctor anesthesiologist comes in to tell me his part, asks more questions to get ready for surgery. Any questions? Yes I do, I think now would be a good time for me to make one last trip to restroom and then I'm ready to get it on. Can I do that? Off he goes to find me an open bathroom, comes back to help me and my IV bag up all the while listening to me telling him the rules. Doc no one gets to see my ass, you gotta pay for that shit. He laughs saying its good, walks me to the bathroom holding me closed while carrying my IV bag. Apparently this never happens because when we walk by the nurse station several necks crane over. A few say out loud well I'll be! Nurse 2 says girl how'd you do that? Looking at the doctor and another man waiting to hold door open for me. Nurse (waving her away) I'm good I'm good I got a few cutie men helping me. I see that and there's a first for everything is her honest funny reply.
At one point nurse 1 says to lovey something like your mama is a hoot, too funny.

Calm patient lovey nonplused says oh yes, this is how my mama rolls and the way she is every day. I'm used to it by now.

See? I told you that I bet your lovey isn't like my lovey. She gets me. She really does.

And so it appears I go back

For more surgery. A mini one, but like tomorrow afternoon.

The "situation" as I have been calling it was my left breast just wasn't healing as it should. Not real bad but not cooperating and the source of a lot pain among other things.

It has been my entire focus these last few weeks besides "operation get the drains out me" was to do all I could following orders to ensure I don't get infections. And many think that means lie in bed and do nothing. Believe it or not moving in careful ways as instructed is good. Note: get medical advice from your own doctor and heed my previous warning about repeating medical things I say with any confidence to anyone else. I'm taking narcotics for the first time in 15 years people! 

The idea is to ensure blood flow and oxygen moves back to areas that were well -how to say this, how to say this- sliced and diced some. It's a common after breast cancer surgery issue and concern. Manage pain and heal. If not, more surgeries to fix the problem thus delaying recoveries, with more time added onto the sentence (sorry that's how I see it now) to get to the end result. Which to me is get back to my regularly scheduled life.

For about a week now I kept referring to the situation (trust me you don't want the whole thing described in detail) as the dead rat in the left side of my bra. Now here's the thing, I have been to both surgeons and my regular physician in the last week alone. You just make the rounds during recovery from cancer surgery. First weekly then maybe every 2 weeks, that's in addition to the oncologist and now it seems a cardiologist to prep for chemo. I told you I was busy. I tossed my primary care doctor in the mix for a few reasons. Im off work with time to do it and extremely important with so many doctors to have that one doctor that has all my information, all the medicines I'm taking (very very important) and when all is said and done she will be the person I continue on with monitoring my health.

In these 3-4 doctors visits during the last week or so glances and exams were done to see how healing was coming along. Yes count with me, person number 73 who has seen me without shirt in last month (I had to add all the lovely hospital people that's why it jumped from 52). All agreed the skin was the color it needed to be. Fine. Ok.

My issue with my bionic nose is I started to smell something not so nice. I named it the dead rat. I'm that person. Yes, the one that smells everything about half a day before anyone else, and it's annoying. Each visit I ask: so everything looks good right? Answer each time: yes so far. And then: well what about that smell? Answer: What smell? Once when one of my docs leaned in to try to smell more while declaring it slightly weird out loud I resisted the urge to pull my camera phone out and snap a pic. Yes, I'm immature. No one agreed with me on the dead rat smell situation.

This morning with a call to my surgeon office, the email exchange and photos it was decided to have me come in. The Doctor assistant calls and said doc is in surgery, she reviewed email, photos and wants to know if you can come in. Can you do that? I said girl I have been waiting in my kitchen with my purse in my hands all afternoon ready. 

In the doctors office I dramatically warn them to hold their nose during the reveal. It wasn't as bad as I describe I'm told but the result is I go tomorrow for outpatient skin trimming clean it up type mini surgery thing. For me to be comfortable and to not feel pain you get twilight anesthesia. I think two things: first is punch me out or hit me with a frying pan I don't care but no more pain and the other is please don't let me be like that girl who was hysterical over her murdered wisdom teeth after anesthesia which was videotaped by her "loved ones" and went viral on the internet. I start my mental work on detaching from anything coming off of me so that doesn't happen.

Prayers and thoughts are appreciated for a speedy recovery my dear family and friends as well-no internet videos. All are equally important.

There are just going to be times

When you feel like no one could possibly understand the struggle, the pain or frustration you are going through except for maybe a song sung by one of your favorites.

For those reasons I haven't blogged much in a week or so for some very important reasons:

1. Pretty busy processing news I'm not happy about, the next steps and kickin rocks like a little kid with my hands in my pocket because I have to do things I don't want to do- I move slower these days so that takes up a lot of time

2. Still pain and more terrible curse words so I hang out with foul mouf people to feel more normal and better about myself

3. Operation get the drains outta me required me to not move my arms, point a lot and only when absolutely needed. The report to that story is the mutha fuggan drains are out

4. Lots of doctor visits (I have 5 now)- each visit bring homework or prep and sometimes more kickin rocks

4. Monitoring a possible infection situation that was making me distracted and nervous-after calls with my doctor, email and photo exchange of my boob I was promptly seen

5. Very busy checking that I could have sent pictures of my boob to my entire email address book and need to double check my sent emails twice to be sure. Ok ok three times. We are ok, email sent to proper recipient

The reality is some days are good, some are meh and some are just a straight up country song. One thing after another it seems. No different than any other time in our life with just different content. So while sitting more still than I ever have or at least in a long time listening to some soul music (i like to toss it up) I heard some words In a song that hit me hard. You know that feeling? Similar to like when you are in church and the preacher or priest is doing their thing and you feel without a doubt that the sermon that day was wrote and meant entirely for you. Surely when this happens it's no accident. We are meant to see or hear things at the times when we need.

So here I am in my house just feeling those words, and I gotta tell you I may or may not have said in a louder than normal voice or well just shouted: amen or can I get a witness?! Like I said May or May not. There's only myself and my dog to tell the tale of what really went down.

Partial lyrics to song sung by Anthony Hamilton, Jaheim, Musiq soulchild

Struggle no more..................................

Lately It’s been hard times
I’m talking about them
Financial ones aside
And they say when it rains it pours
Well it’s running at my door
If it ain’t one thang (one thang) it’s another
And I’m so glad that we got each other
I’m so sick and tired of being stressed out
Lord please help me from this mess I’m in

Lord lift me over the hurt and pain
Deliver me from the rain
See I don’t wanna stress over stress no more
I don’t wanna strug-gle no more
So lift me up over the hurt and pain
Deliver me from the rain
See I don’t wanna stress over stress no more
I don’t wanna strug-gle no more

The things a girl gotta do

To get stuff done. Last week I had several doctors appointments. The first one to visit my surgeon checking how everything looks and if my drains could come out. These days while I may not have much to do except heal I still make daily goals. So my goal before the visit besides drink more water and try to make it from bed to bathroom without taking a break was to do all I can to get drains removed during this visit. They don't usually stay in this long but it's different for everyone. 

I talked about the drains before, they are stitched into the side of my body with long tubes that empty into these grenade type things. They need stripping, recording and emptying and stripping and recording and well you get the idea. Annoying. Not to mention messes with my fashion choice when I leave the house. I need to be super creative hiding them. I don't wear or own tent like shirts so that rules that out. I thought I scored and found a shirt that hides them well enough only to look in the mirror to see that tucking the drains in made it looked like I had droopy boobs (big sigh), and I mean droopy, like down to my waist droopy. Yea no, def not the look I'm going for. Ever. 

I waited holding my breath while they read the drain report card. She laughed a little. Not because this is a laughing matter. It's you record the times next to entry and one day I woke up late, at like 10am, and I wrote don't judge me next to it. Anyway she said nope not ready, stop using your arms so much. For sure I don't mop, vacuum or do dishes, everyone in a 10 mile radius knows I don't do this. Well, what else are you doing she asks? I suddenly remembered doing lots of cleaning counters and picking things up. I might have even swept the floor because I couldn't take it anymore. I felt the dust would move into one whole piece and attack me or something. So of course she advised well stop doing it, if you want them out don't use arms repeatedly. 

So I go home to tell my housemates the news and ask for a game plan. I live with cooperative helpful lovely people. They really are. The issue is me. You see my boyfriend isn't a messy man it's just he doesn't see anything wrong at all with 8 shoes piling up at the bottom of the stairs, clothes on the floor in our room or his shirts on chairs in the kitchen. Clearly it doesn't bother him. Once I came downstairs and his military bag was on the floor about half a foot from the kitchen, next to it were his pants still with the leg holes outlined like he dropped them and just stepped out of them. I never said a word. Why? Because it's my issue and not his. So I pick it up and shut up. I long ago came to the reality that if things bother me about cleanliness I need to make choices. Shut up and pick it up or leave it. I want peace always. Besides there's bigger things we can discuss nor do I want to constantly complain to a sweet cute man. It's unattractive. While in my career often times I have been "the boss" at home however I just want to be a sassy little kitty who twirls her hairs, smells good and wears lipgloss. But I got goals. So I have to employ methods to accomplish the mission.

Me: my handsome man, there's something really scary in our room. I can't go in there. I'm afraid. (Meaning his underwear and tshirt is on the floor)
Him: oh shucks sweetie, I'm sorry. lemme go pick it up.

Yes, yes of course I happen to live with a southern man who never raises his voice to me, says things like shucks and doesn't curse. Excellent! Truck driver Lolita tossing out cuss words left and right with nerve pain. I apologize constantly.

Me: Hercules (one of my names for him) I think there's spiders in the bathroom on the floor. I think they gonna bite me. 
Him: ok ok mami lemme go sweep while kisses me

Him: here my love here's your morning shake, how does it taste?
Me: oh goodness it's great! I bet you looked real cute making it (he def forgot a few key ingredients and I never once held my nose or grimaced while drinking it down) 

As for his shoes pileup? I haven't found anything to say for that so each time I go upstairs I wear one and kick them off into his closet so I'm not using my arms. 

Don't worry folks. Operation get the friggin drains outta Lolita or she gonna go loco well under way. Mission soon to be accomplished.

The side effects of cancer recovery

Brings a lot of surprises. I have blogged about some of it.

Overthinking because of time on your hands. Seriously. I'm well on my way to solving world peace
Being so exhausted I have to take a break on the way to the bathroom from my bed and sit on the couch that is mere inches from my bed
Copious amounts of narcotics to take due to pain pain paaaiiinn (singing)
Need to drink prune juice (oh my gosh did I tell you that????-said in a strange high voice)

And now apparently something else, very serious. Sorta of a modified Tourette syndrome. If you don't know what that is please google it. It's terrible and nothing to make light of the people who really have this. I just have no other explination. But it causes people to move their body unexpectedly even if they don't want to and some times shout things out? Please My dear friends, never ever take anything medical I say on this blog and repeat it with any confidence. To anyone. I know just enough to be dangerous and ALL that I know from my entire life fits on the head of a tiny pin. Maybe half. So please don't go having a conversation with someone repeating medical stuff saying...well the other day Lolita said blah blah blah (fainting at the thought). It's why I bring people with me to appointments. I TRY to focus. I really do, it's just all I want to shoutout is ppeerrfecct- just wheeeeennn do we get to the--and now they look pretty and I can stop taking my shirt off constantly-part!!!! But of course I don't shout that. I listen, I nod my head and ask questions then I look at my brother and say ok um Kev? Do you have any questions? Praying to the big man upstairs he does and it's a doozy so we look smart.

Back to the Tourette's issue. You see there is that shooting nerve pain thing you get after surgeries like this. It just comes on sudden and nasty nasty. So there I am sitting around, minding my own business, there it goes POW!! I immediately gasp out----loud. My hands ball up in fists up at the side of my head, then release and of course I say ummm stuff. Really bad stupid stuff that I am trying super duper hard not to say. So when I apply this effort at a time I'm in shocking pain I am truly embarrassed what comes out and the combination of things. I don't even say this stuff on the regular in real life! Hey, do you like how I just tried to act like this time in my life isn't real and pretend (nodding my head-you caught that, right?)? I'll spend some time on a therapy couch somewhere for that. What I'm trying to say is I don't normally say these things. Rather this combination of words. The other day I texted my sister in her room late at night telling her sister if you hear cursing from our room, to not worry my boyfriend and I are not having a fight. It's the shooting nerve pain. She replied. Feel better sister. Sorry and don't worry I won't tell nurse muneca (our momma) you have a mouth like a truck driver. K?

True real life examples. Note: Kids- cover your ears. Religious people-change the channel or clutch your bible to your chest and pray for me. Judgemental people-kiss my grits

Shooting pain #1: gasp fuuuuuck shit balls!! What?? I don't say balls. I hate that word.

Shooting pain #2: gasp oh my god!! fuckin can o beans!!! What! what? I do NOT take The Lords name in vain. I'm teased for saying oh my gosh all the time.

Shooting pain #3: always a loud gasp. ass monkey!! (Silence) I have no words

I have a friend who says What the French Toast?!!!! Great way to not say bad words, classy and cute. I have said it. Awesome. However I'm not able to carry this grace under shooting nerve pain situation.

Shooting pain #4: gasp?!!!! Ooo yyiiiii fuccckk the French toast!!! (Head in my hands)

Lately it seems I have had a lot of time to think

Well we always have time to think don't we? But when we are multi tasking or running around just living life it may not be as centered as we would like or as clear. At this time for me it appears I'm in a way demanded (I don't want to say forced) to sit or be still somewhat. For a while. Doesn't really matter if I like it or not. That's just the way it is. The good in this is it allows me to have more centered thoughts.

What I have been thinking a lot about during this last month is quite a few things but I can assure you at the tippy top of thought list is not my cancer. I do think about it of course. I have to. To say that I didn't would be just straight up lying. It's that it sure doesn't completely occupy my each and every thought. I think about it clinically or in a detached sense. Sometimes in a funny ridiculous way, yes that too. I've always done this when tough or hard things come my way. It helps me process in a way that doesn't completely engulf me. It allows me to be freer to make choices and decisions. Really really tough decisions, some I don't want to make but I need to. Times ticks louder it seems when you have a more aggressive type of cancer.

So for a long time now especially lately I use my time when I can to think about ways to be inspired, to find and keep enthusiasm in me, to look for all the beauty that is right in front of me. In others, places, or words. It doesn't matter. For the very important reason is that I feel strongly my job is to remain in my center and in light. As much as strength allows and no matter what comes my way. No matter what. Of course I have a job or career that I love, that I need to pack up and drive to everyday. Well not now, soon though. I'm referring to my job as a human or person.

Life has shown me no doubt that it's far easier to stay in the middle or remain in a good vibration than try to lift myself up higher when all the way down. My my, has that ever been revealed to me. Talking in the mental sense, if I want to go higher or feel higher I simply lift my pinky finger to get up where I need or want. Easy peasy.  

The physical sense? Weeeelll that's a lil bit different story. These last few days it's just harder for me to move from lying down to in the simple get up position. Even inches. If I decide to lie down or sit back I had betta be committed to that, for a little bit at least. Every single day, every morning, every time I have to get up. And you wanna know what? It sucks. Sure does. My process has been to stay there for a bit, think about it, visualize, pep talk myself some, take some deep breathes, some false moves and then finally move. Slowly so very carefully. Yes, it hurts that much. Its my biggest struggle of the day. So what do I do, what's the cure? Stay upright all day? Ha-if only. Life it seems isn't that simple and doesn't always allow us to avoid pains or struggles. Physical or mental. Which is why I realize my job of staying in the light or higher vibration in every sense is important. So there is my action now. I'll apply it each and every morning and throughout my day.

I have had many incredible people call me, write to me, reach out to me in so many forms. How very beautiful to not just believe people are with you or love you but to receive actual confirmation. We don't always get that luxury do we?  What the common theme seems to be besides I have a funny outlook on life is that I may be inspiring or that I'm a positive person. That's wonderful. Surely I want others to feel my love for life, for them and all things. What else would I want them to know? That's it's not just now because of my diagnosis or that I only present it occasionally and then hide in a corner to break down, feeling sorry for myself or sad. Melancholy maybe (smiling) but not actual sorrow for myself.

I have been working my thought muscle in good ways for far too long and it's been ready. Now its clear what I have to work is my stomach muscles (slight grimace) to get myself upright easier, to the middle, although physical this time and with less pain. I'll do it, of course I will. The beauty of life and time I find is it never ever stays the same. Movement is my prescription now.

Why I'm sharing this with you is not ever to illicit emotions in you to feel sorry for me. We all have pain. Its simply to share what's going on right now. More important I believe it's for me. Whatever I say I direct towards myself first. Whatever else anyone gets from it is just some nice tasting gravy on a well cooked meal.

There's a story behind the story

And it's kinda long. Indulge me some if you can. 

One of the last instructions my breast surgeon gave on the day of surgery was to remind me again (maybe the 3rd time) to be sure when I got home to take the pain pills they were going to give me. Along with the Valium. About every 4-6 hours. Don't be stoic she says knowing my aversion to narcotics (much more on this later). She tells me this again for a few reasons. When you are healing from such a major surgery with skin being put back together and nerves reattaching its important to get the blood flowing in that direction for the best healing she states and if you can't due to the fact you don't move because you are just soooo (she drags out the word) racked with pain and stiff it won't help our healing process. To illustrate she puts her body real stiff like with arms straight at her sides like a corpse to show me exactly what she means. We can't have that she says. She does this in the room witnessed by my crew about a half hour before surgery. My mom-nurse muneca tells her don't jew worry, I take care of that. Good my surgeon says satisfied it's all going to go as needed.

Before you think my doc a drug pusher or has stock in some pain med companies there is a back story to the cancer story I have been blogging about. You see in September I went in for a much needed non cosmetic (don't get wild ideas) surgery with a different doctor. It was an overnight completely under anesthesia hospital stay. Scardy cat I am of course I put it off as long as I could. A few days before I'm with the nurse for after surgery instructions. Along with the instructions she hands over like 3 prescriptions. One was for a narcotic pain script. What's this I ask narrowing my eyes? It's the pain meds you will need to take while at home. Oh boy. I asked her in the sweetest voice if I rreaaalllyy needed narcotics and what was the strongest non narcotic thing they could give me. She was stunned and slightly frustrated saying you have to take them and then--well you are gonna need to talk to the doctor about that. It seems as if no one refuses the pain meds and it's not the first time I have gotten this reaction.

Here's my thing with narcotic pain meds and pain in general. I don't like pain and for sure I do feel pain. In fact if you even slightly try to bend my little finger back I will promptly yell and poke you in your eyeball in 2 seconds flat. It's just I don't like narcotics. At all. And I really don't like me on them. They make my stomach hurt after about a half a day on them, they make me itch terribly in particular my nose. I talk real sloooowww while itching my nose. Sometimes I even miss my nose in that itching effort. Pathetic. Thats how bad I am on them. It reminds me of this guy Randy that used to come around from time to time when I was in high school who was obviously a heavy narcotic drug user or anything he could get his hands on. Picking at himself, itching himself talking super slow slurry like nodding off in the middle of talking to you then wake up half hour later like he never stopped while itching again. I simply can't erase the visual of poor Randy from my mind and ignore the fact that I miiiigghhtt look a little like him when I take them. It really freaks me out. I have avoided taking them. In fact if any doctor even starts in the direction of writing the script I hold my hand up, question pain levels, after effects and explore other options. Worked so far.

Later in my doctors office sitting on her couch I ask her to tell me or describe to me the level of pain or discomfort she thinks I might have after surgery. She is actually very well known and recommended for her skills in this area and for her amazingly little downtime after surgery. It's the very reason why I chose her. I wanted to be up running through fields of daisies and back at work quickly. How terribly terribly ironic in hindsight given what we now know isn't it? So I say doc, is this pain aaannnyyy (emphasizing this word) worse than the ridiculous pain I have had for the last 2 years  I have managed by taking just a few prescription ibuprofen? She took off her glasses and looked at me calmly answering no it's not at all, that's real pain you have been going through, there's no reason you couldn't continue to take it after surgery, I agree if you don't want the pain meds don't take them and you will be fine. It's settled then. No narcotics. Before I leave she says see ya Thursday (for the surgery), here's your prescription for your annual mammogram peeling off the paper from her prescription pad. Great I say, see you then and stick the paper in my purse.

My surgery went well. My overnight stay was fine. I fell in love with my nurses who were amazing, thankfully so because there I was again last week. Same room same nurse. More on this in another blog. After surgery at home true to form I did extremely well and never once needed to run to the pharmacy desperately asking for "the juice". A few people told me to stop being super women and just take the pain meds. I let them know the truth that the only discomfort I really felt was the air or gas they fill you up with during surgery. A friend said oh my goodness then, just let it out!! Meaning the gas. I told her it wasn't that kind of gas you just can't pass it like she was suggesting. It simply had to be absorbed by the body. Except it passes or moves up into your right shoulder area and makes you feel a little like you are having a heart attack. Visions of Redd Fox on that old show Samford and Sons who would pretend to have attacks stumbling around saying Elizabeth (clutching his heart) I'm coming Elizabeth (looking up to the heavens) would come to mind. Because It's like that except you know daing well you aren't having a heart attack because your heart is on the other side.  

It was during my rounds of cancer doctor visits not soon after this other surgery they find out how well I recovered, how quickly and without narcotic pain meds. Everyone wanted to look at the incisions. The first visit she meets me my breast surgeon says huh? hmmm let me look at those incisions! I just can't believe it. After looking, wow you heal great and seem to be what we call a high pain tolerant patient. Let's not get carried away I tell her. If I gotta take it and if it's that bad I will I just want to talk about it or have a choice. 

And that's why my very smart doctor repeated herself a few times to me about the subject maybe worried that I might decide to make some choice that could possibly delay healing. Well now. This time around on the surgery train it's a whole other situation entirely. Lemme tell ya folks it hurts and you take "the freakin juice". In fact I would count (at least tried, one is not exactly perfectly lucid) to be sure it was not after the 4 hours between med times. Yes- while trying to itch my nose. Once when I said I wanted them at a time that wasn't exxaaccctttly 4 hours my sister who is very technical reminded me that the hour I was requesting wasn't the 4 hours- exactly (it was more like 3 hours and 20 min). I promptly said sister!! are you kidding me?! gimme the eff meds I'm certainly not gonna freakin OD. Except I was so effed up I said it real real real slow losing the dramatic effect I wanted and who knows probably while trying to itch my ear or something.

First day alone-don't worry it's jam packed. I'm very busy

9:00am: wake up, open eyes, curse out loud knowing that once I get myself into the upright sit up position I have to figure out how to turn to the left to actually get OUT of the  bed

9:15am: make it to my couch in my room. Sit down and stare at my toes

9:18am: wash face, brush teeth. Carefully check for any new wrinkles as I have not been always able to do my nightly beauty ritual of slathering on my anti wrinkle eye stuff 

9:20am: feel fairly confident no new wrinkles have crept their way onto my face. To be sure I slowly reach for wrinkle cream and apply. You can never be too sure I tell myself

9:21am: think about making my way downstairs to do something

9:43am: make way downstairs. Decide to make my morning shake and refresh water

9:55am: while making shake I challenge myself to see how many more leaves of spinach I can fit in while still able to completely screw on lid and not have shake mix go all over the place while mixing-(not that this has happened to me, I'm just saying)

10:10am: finish shake and drink shake

10:14am: make personal goal of drinking my big thing of water by noon

10:19am:  feel good I made a goal for today

10:20am: wipe down all ready clean counters. slooooowly

10:21am: wipe corner of counter down again as I'm sure I saw a speck of something

10:21am: tell myself I don't have OCD that I'm just tidy

10:22am: drink water

10:23am: stare at my nails but don't actually file them because I don't know how

10:24am: look at pics on Instagram. Press like on 3 of them

10:24am: attempt to teach my dog Spanish

10:28am: look around, wonder when everyone is coming home while resisting urge to wipe down counters again

10:29am: drink more water. feel proud that I'm getting closer to my goal

10:34am: say bad words out loud when I get a sudden shooting nerve pain. Silently I tell my momma aka nurse muneca I'm sorry. She told me I was gonna get in trouble if I keep doing that

10:35am: hope nurse muneca doesn't read this blog entry

10:36am: stand at bottom of stairs, look up. take deep breathe

11:10am: upstairs 

11:12am: sit down on bed. contemplate taking shower 

11:12 and 40 seconds: lie down to take a nap

It's all fun and games

Until you actually have to show up at the hospital and finally do all the stuff that you have been talking about, listening intently to, taking notes and actually agreeing to while nodding your head. Talk? That's the easy part. It's a whole other can of beans when you have to get up on the day of the surgery and do this not so fun action part. A few days prior I kept getting calls from family, from friends, the hospital (pre check in) and both doctors all asking me how I am. Each time my answer was the same. Ooohhhh fine (in a slightly different high pitch voice) I'm just trying not to make a run for it. They would laugh and I would laugh but not like a real laugh like a hehe totally fake dry mouth kinda laugh. You see I was only partially joking. Major surgery and stays in the hospital are just straight up terrifying. What's a girl to do? Make imaginary plan b in your head that you can always run off like a chicken.

What's a better plan? Roll in with a crew about 10 deep. And thats exactly what I did. Kinda like a pre party. I am in no way exaggerating when I tell you how much it helped. Immensely is a word that comes to mind. However before "the crew" arrived mid morning I had to check in much earlier at the nuclear medicine part of the hospital for a pre surgery procedure called sentinel node biopsy. I really wasn't happy about that one. It involves needles. And radioactive dye. To further help you understand let's remember I certainly don't have pinky toe cancer. I have breast cancer. Just so we get the idea where it was all going down. Very much needed and important. I know that. It's to check lymph nodes giving the surgeon a clear path to detect how far the cancer has gone but knowing this sure didn't make me skip off to the radiology section. Talk about needing a paper bag to prevent panic attacks. When they called my name to take me back I actually involuntarily said in a strange voice: no esta aqui. Yes I said that. My mom laughed and said you're too much, get back there whacking me on the butt.

As we walk down the hall young man number one says do you know what you are here for today? Uuuhh. I blank out. I didn't know there was going to be a test. I do my best to mutter the procedures in the medical terms all the while trying to peek at the papers he is holding. Close he says while he repeats it to me. This happens throughout the day with each new person who comes in. It's a good thing. You sure don't want to leave without a leg or some other limb and still have the f$@&cn cancer in you because of a terrible mix up. It's just I didn't study for the test.

Off I go for the injections, in the you know what. In a freezing cold room with huge strange machines lying down wrapped in a warm blanket strapped in on this oddly small stretcher bed (either that or it's not made for Latina booties) slightly exposed waiting for the doctor of radiology with 2 young men in their 20s. It seems injection Doctor wasn't ready. After a few more minutes waiting the young man says I'm so sorry he will be right here. I let him  

know no worries, that I had back up plans to ditch the whole thing and run off to Mexico anyway so this must be a sign. Wouldn't you know very tall and very handsome Dr Radiologist is standing right behind me as I say this snapping his gloves on laughing telling me no Mexico today young lady, we are going to have you out of here in a jiffy.

So there I lie left breast exposed with 3 handsome young men just hanging around joking. No biggie, right? Awwwkkwwaarrdd. Young man number two says hold my hand and proceeds to tell me a funny story about his #160 Saint Bernard who misbehaves constantly while handsome doctor counts and injects, counts and injects. 1 of 4. 2 of 4 and so on until we are done.

Finally I'm done to go meet up with my crew for the pre party before surgery. 

Nurse muneca is in the house

I call my mom muneca. Which in Spanish means doll. I have for some time. It's my term of affection for her. And now that she has traveled across the country and moved in to care for me while I'm recovering from surgery I started calling her Nurse muneca. Translated to Nurse doll. It makes her giggle. I started adding the nurse part a few weeks back. I would call her and say nurse! Are you getting your rest? I need you soon. Si, si estoy lista she would reassure me. (Yes yes I am ready). Nurse muneca que haces (what are you doing) I texted her a few weeks ago? Getting my hair done and a pedicure so I look cute for you she replies. Ah si, we can't be in the hospital with our toes or hair looking ugly. Good idea I'm doing the same I reply back. She laughs.

It's so incredibly healing to have loving hands on you while you recover. From something as serious as cancer surgery or as simple as a tooth extraction. As adults I find over and over we don't seem to allow this. We are so programmed to be independent and stubborn in this way. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's we don't want people to see us weak or vulnerable. Or maybe it's because we don't want to have to put on smiley faces for someone else when we don't feel like that inside. Who knows why, we all have our own reasons. I have been guilty of this myself. Others I know have done the same. I find out later they went through something kinda serious but only after the fact. It surprises me. I can only say and speak for myself that if not for my nurse muneca and every other person who has come to care for me through their loving actions I would absolutely not be in such good spirits that I am or surely be in a much worse position than I am now. 

So here she is with me. Everyday. Helping me get out of bed every time so I don't overuse arm muscles that are not supposed to be used, walking by my side to steady my shaky legs. Greeting me each and every morning with a buenos dias beauty, what would you like for breakfast? Except my mom has a heavy Caribbean Puerto Rican accent and when she says you it sounds like jew. And when she uses a j it sounds like a y. So if I tell her something funny and true but slightly unbelievable she says are jew yoking me? No, I tell her I not yoking you. It's adorable. 

I have these tubes that are stitched into me on each side that empty into something that looks like these little plastic grenades. Three times a day she strips the tubes and empties the grenades. Recording the date, the time, the amount, and the color. Ooh look at this color she says, looking good beauty, looking good. She patiently waits for me outside the bathroom door after my shower to dry and brush my hair telling me oooo that's so cute, where jew get that? Referring to my little dress or nightgown. 

Nurse muneca I call to her when I have to move out of bed or it's time for my medication. Yes, beauty ya vengo (I'm coming) and there she comes. Calmly and lovingly to move me or give me the next round of medication. Telling me stories of who called to ask about me or what she just read always in her melodic soft accented voice. 

Every morning to help my nausea from all the narcotic medication I take she makes me the most delicious shakes filled with spinach, berries, carrots, protein power and almond milk. I drink every drop. The other day she tells me, listen beauty (she pauses) I have to tell jew something. What Is it ask? Well she says I have been sneaking prune juice into jour shakes because the doctor says it's very important jew....well jew know (she moves her hands like to say you know what I'm saying but I'm not going to say it) jew taking so much pain medication that we don't want problems in dis area. Hopefully jew like it. 

Oh nurse muneca, you're too much while I laugh out loud holding my chest at the same time. It hurts to laugh but still I do it.