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I itch!

I say that proudly because:
  1. I know that I'm clean so it's not because of that (I've showered nearly every day since surgery)
  2. I know that itching means healing (at least I think I know that).
Every day I'm a little stronger, a little less swollen and have a little more energy--which is making life difficult for my poor wife Anne. I keep trying to "do" things, and we each have different ideas about what I can and cannot do.

We've had our moments--here are a few:

First one:
Red Vintage Phone
Image courtesy of phaendin at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
The phone rings, caller id says "Northwell" and I pick it up. A voice says "This is Anne Marie. I'm a nurse in the I-don't-hear-what department and I'm calling to see how Anne is doing after her surgery." I say, are you sure you mean Anne? I'm Connie Knapp and I had surgery on Friday. The poor confused nurse says, no, I'm sure. I'm looking for Anne Corey.

A few more rounds of this and I realize the that I-don't-hear-what department is ORTHAPEDIC!!

So then we have a saner conversation about Anne.

Did I remember that the nurses call for 90 days after surgery? And what are the odds that TWO PEOPLE in the same household will have had surgery that close together? I guess as you get older the odds get better.

The second one:

Every morning before my shower, Anne helps me take off my bra and while I shower she replaces the "panty liners" that protect my clothes from whatever oozing there might be (there hasn't been much).

Last Friday afternoon (after we put our cat to sleep--another post for another day) as I was about to get into the shower, Dr Anne wasn't happy with what she saw. Spoiler alert: it's about to get gory.

The steri strips under my right nipple looked as though they were collecting blood-to Anne, it looked as though my nipple was bleeding. To understand this you need to know (or maybe you don't) that I have stitches around both nipples and under both breasts. That's the way the plastic surgeon manages the oncoplasty surgery at the same time as the lumpectomy (which, by the way, is also called "partial mastectomy" -- I almost didn't sign the form because I was looking for the word "lumpectomy", not "mastectomy").

I thought it was all fine (that's me! It's all good!) but Anne was worried. So we called Dr Razaboni, the oncoplasty surgeon. We had some back and forth, and then she said we should take pictures of both breasts and send them to her.

Which we did. And I'm fine. She explained that because Dr Cahan had to take so much tissue from my right breast, I had what she called a "little blister, like when your shoe rubs your heel" and there was nothing to worry about.

Only later did I think about these pictures of my poor battered breasts being sent around the Internet. But I must say that for the first time in my 69 year eight month life both my breasts seem to be the same size!

Oh the things I'm learning!




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