Dr. Jake’s At-Home Surgery Center and Sno-Cone Shack

We are going to open up another in-home business, because last night, we discovered that Jake has yet another talent - performing surgical procedures on his wife in the comfort of our master bathroom.

Remember Jimmy? The mysterious leftover from my breast surgery? Well, he was still around and still painful and frankly I was getting worried. Last night as I got into bed, Jake noticed it and asked me when I was going to go to the doctor again. I was thinking, “well, I’ve been to two doctors who both assure me it’s not a big deal so what’s the point?” Then he noticed that the something in there (we’ve always felt there was something in there) was starting to come out. I said “Great! Do you feel comfortable pulling it out?”

So into the bathroom we went, where I got out my beloved rubbing alcohol, some cotton and some tweezers. After taking a big whiff of the rubbing alcohol just for giggles, I swabbed down my back and the tweezers and let Jake at it. I couldn’t look at what he was doing in the mirror because I am a wimp like that, but it only hurt a little bit at first and then I didn’t feel anything except him fiddling around. It took a while but he got it.

This is Jimmy:

The motherfucker is a piece of wire at least two inches long with one end bent back in a kind of hook, and I believe that is the end that was poking up through my skin. If you want to get a better picture of it, go here and view it large. Creepy.

When I had my surgery, the first part of it was going up to a breast imaging center so that they could use ultrasound to mark the edges of the tumor with wires so my surgeon could easily know she had gotten all the tissue. Jimmy can only be a piece of one of those wires.

I’m so fucking pissed off right now I can’t even explain it. I don’t care so much that medical waste was left inside me because it really hasn’t hindered me in any way. Sure it hurt, but it wasn’t debilitating or anything. What pisses me off beyond belief is that when I asked my surgeon about it she blew me off and told me it was a pimple, without even touching it. Now at that point, I hadn’t even touched it myself enough to feel that it was obvious there was something in there, mainly because it hurt like hell and I’m a bit squeamish about stuff like this. Had I touched it and felt the thing in there, I would have made her touch it. I also went to my own doctor last week who agreed it was something but thought it might be a stitch that had come off and moved. I don’t really blame him because he had no idea the nature of the surgery and had no reason to suspect that this could be anything like it was.

I’m also a little worried about what else might be in there, that hasn’t started to make its way to freedom. I’ll be calling the doctor’s office next week, although I already have an appointment for the week after for my final follow up. I guess I’ll need to demand an x-ray or an ultrasound to ensure that no more of these wires have broken off and are on their way to pierce an internal organ or anything.

If I were a more litigious person, I’d be looking at vacation homes in Hilton Head right about now. But I’m not.

Jimmy’s Back

Jimmy is flaring up again. Since the surgeon blew me off I tried to forget about it, but the thing still really hurts. So today I went to my regular doctor.  He thinks it’s one of the dissolvable stitches that I’m having a reaction to or is poking up. He gave me a shot of something to deaden the nerve, in hopes that by the time that wears off the reaction will be over. I don’t really think that’s going to work because it’s already starting to wear off. We’ll see what happens.

Oh, and hopefully the issues that some of you Blogger users have been having should be better now. I turned off Open ID, which on the surface seems smart, but is the biggest pain the ass ever. I guess it works technically but it’s so complicated that no one (me included) knows their actual Open ID. At least that’s what Jake tells me. In any event, if you still have problems let me know.

And thanks for all the comments about how nice my ass looks. I know it’s true but it’s always nice to hear.

Boob Update

Because it’s simply been far too long since I’ve talked about my boobs….

First a picture. This was taken on Friday. You can see the signature of the surgeon on my chest. I don’t know what the hell kind of pen she used but it took forever to wash that off. This was just moments before we took the dressing off and discovered that I am now Frankenboob.

Lovely, no?

I went to the doctor on Tuesday to have Jimmy looked at. Turns out Jimmy was/is just the mother of all pimples. I’m supposed to just keep the hot compresses and gentle exfoliation. It’s already getting better. While I was at the doctor, they went ahead and removed my stitches a couple days early because I was healing well enough. I also got cleared to resume normal activities, stop wearing a bra 24/7, and I’m allowed to pick up the girl again!

I am so relieved about that. I wasn’t prepared for what an effect it would have on me to not be able to pick her up. I felt so useless! I’d have to call or IM Jake to come down to put her in her high chair or get her out of her high chair. I’d have to get him to pick her up so I could change her diaper. I couldn’t get her up or put her to bed. The worst part was when she’d cry and hold up her arms to me, wanting me to hold her. I had a brief meltdown on Monday when I didn’t know what to do with myself. I felt weird leaving her home with Jake who needed to be working but I couldn’t take her with me on errands. I was walking around in circles not knowing what to do with myself.

So now I’m free to mother again. Except I might have overdone it today when I took Bridget out to run errands and I hefted the stroller into the back of the truck. Ouch. I’ll have to take it easy again and not do that for a while.

The only lingering issue is that we have a wedding to attend on Saturday and I can’t truss myself into the strapless dress I was planning to wear. I guess that’s ok because my boobs are weird after pregnancy and this was a pre-pregnancy dress. I wasn’t altogether sure I’d have gotten into it anyway. Not comfortably anyway. So I had to buy a new dress, which is fine and I love the dress I bought, but I still need a strapless bra with it. We’ll see how that feels. How weird is that? My pre-pregnancy strapless cocktail dress doesn’t fit now because of my boobs, not my gut. Huh. I never would have guessed that.

All’s Well

I’m home. I’ve actually been home for a while, but I ate dinner and promptly passed out on the couch. Strangely I’m not in nearly the pain I was in after the biopsy. So I am exhausted and while I planned to take a narcotic before bed, I’m debating the need to do that.

The day was fine, although annoying. They gave me a Xanax along with the anti-nausea medication then I had to sit around and wait for a good long while. I can honestly say that I don’t know why people abuse that particular drug because all I wanted to do was sleep. I couldn’t have functioned while taking it. Anyway, the anesthesia was fine. I was very relaxed due to the Xanax and then he popped something into my IV, and the next thing I knew it was all over.  I do find it funny that my surgeon came to me before the operation and signed my right breast. You know, just in case they got in and forgot which one they were working on. I was also asked no less than four times my name, DOB and what I was there to have done. All in the name of safety I suppose.

So tomorrow I get the final pathology report but no one expects to find anything different than what has already been discovered, but it’s just to be safe.  And then the whole thing will be be behind me. At least most of it. I still have to deal with the aftermath of not being able to lift Bridget. I think that’s going to be hardest on me since this time around, I don’t feel as much pain as before. I’ll have to remember not to do things since the pain isn’t there to remind me.

Thanks for all your support, prayers and well wishes. I don’t know what I’d do without you all.

Scared

I don’t know why. It’s a simple procedure. I know I’ll be fine. I know that I won’t be waiting on the edge of my seat waiting to get pathology results. But three times in the past two days I’ve had people explained to me what is going to happen tomorrow step by step and every time I think about it, my stomach starts to churn and I want to cry.

I’m being silly. Everything will be fine. I just hate the idea of general anesthesia. Hate hate hate it. It’s the ultimate loss of control. I hate the feeling of closing your eyes in one moment and then opening them feeling like it’s just a second later but really an hour has passed. I’m nervous about being sick after the surgery but they tell me that they will be giving me plenty of anti-nausea medicine before the surgery.

God, I just wish it was over. I hate this waiting.

Here We Go Again

I had my appointment with the breast surgeon today. Nothing real surprising, except that in the time since most of the tissue was removed a little less than 3 weeks ago, the damn thing has grown again to almost the same size. So any hope I had of hearing that maybe I didn’t need to do it at all or maybe I had some time before having to get cut on again flew out the window.

So I am going next Wednesday. Fun. I was ok until the nurse told me that I couldn’t lift anything over 10 pounds for two weeks. I said “That might be a problem, because I have a toddler.” That was when I started to cry. How am I going to make it two weeks without lifting Bridget? I am not, that’s the simple fact. So am I going to make myself worse?

I can honestly say that I am at a loss as to how I’m going to do this, take care of Bridget and the house and all the other crap in my life. But regardless, the phyllodes bitch is coming out next week. As hard as this is going to be, I can’t go through this every time the damn thing comes back.

Boob, As Promised

I didn’t say it would be sexy, attractive or appealing boob did I? Good, then I haven’t lied to you.

A little over a week later and this is how it looks:

That tiny red mark a little higher up and to the left of the bruise is the actual incision, which is miraculous I think. It’s healing just fine. The worst of it is the gigantic hematoma that is underneath that bruise. I like to say “hematoma.” In my head, I say it like Arnold Schwartzenegger in Kindergarten Cop.  “It’s not a hematoma.” But yes it is. Really.

Aren’t you glad you stopped by today?

Who Doesn’t Love a Carnival?

Especially one about boobs.

Lotus over at Sarcastic Mom is holding a Breastfeeding Carnival. But really it’s just a “share the story of feeding your little one” Carnival. No one is excluded and this is really just meant to be an open forum about how and why moms choose one method of feeding over another, I think. No one is judging breast vs. bottle - we just want to share our experiences for posterity. And it gives me another entry to put in the Boobs category, which I love and want to use far more often.

So feeding….

I planned to breastfeed but I was very nervous about it. I knew better moms than me had serious trouble with it and ended up in tears or quitting or both. At the same time, I figured I could learn. I mean, if women weren’t able to figure this out, the human race would have died out thousands of years ago because Enfamil just hasn’t been around that long. I read books, I went to class, I eagerly devoured blogs written by new moms and just about had breast milk coming out my ears before I was even in my third trimester.

Bridget was born a very considerate four days early, happy and healthy with all her parts and faculties. Well, all the faculties a newborn is supposed to have, which aren’t many. I was lucky enough to have a magical candy and unicorns (thanks for that phrase, Statia) birth - labor coming on naturally and progressing quickly with no drama, and an anesthesiologist who was Johnny on the spot with the good drugs. I got to hold her immediately after her birth and we attempted to nurse right away. She wouldn’t latch.

Oh well, I thought. She’s tired. It’s been a long day for her. I did just eat very soon before she was born. Maybe she’s still full from breakfast. But all through the night, despite my best efforts and the best efforts of the very pro-breastfeeding nurses, she would not latch. One nurse thought the problem was my nipples. One thought it was Bridget. Since she was born late in the day on a Sunday, I didn’t get a chance with a lactation consultant until Monday afternoon. At that point, the girl hadn’t had a thing, and while she didn’t seem to care too much, it was troubling. So I accepted the notion that she needed something to wet her whistle, and we began the dance that carried on for several days. Step 1. Try to get the baby to nurse for about 10 minutes or until she got frustrated. Step 2. Give the baby a tiny bit of formula in a bottle to ward off dehydration. Step 3. Hook myself up to the massive milking machine for 10 minutes so that my supply would be there when Little Miss finally decided to motivate herself to eat.

After visits with three LCs and several nurses who themselves had breastfed, at discharge we were no closer to working out our problem. I had started to produce colostrum, which I would scrape off the sides of the cups of the breast pump and rub into Bridget’s mouth. Thus began my very stressful week. We did this dance every three hours and my stress level just increased every single time. I mean, I had one job in the world and that was to feed my baby. And I was failing miserably. We came home from the hospital on a Tuesday and Wednesday night around 11 p.m. the girl finally figured out how to latch on. After that, nursing was still a beating, sometimes taking an hour for her to remember how to do it. I began to cry a lot and dread nursing. Finally on Monday, I couldn’t take it anymore and I rudely called a Lactation Consultant that my nurse had recommended at 8:30 in the evening. I thought I was reaching her at her office but it turned out I had her home number. She was very sweet though, and was patient while I gathered my wits and stopped crying long enough to beg for her help. She made me an appointment for the next day, at which she got me and Bridget on the right track in about 15 seconds.

I can’t stress enough how much I owe to that woman. I was very close to giving up on breastfeeding and in 15 seconds, she turned us around. It wasn’t a magical switch - it took some practice but within a week or so, nursing became less of a hassle and something that I actually enjoyed. I didn’t dread it anymore. And I could get up in the night, nurse without waking up too much and get back to sleep relatively quickly. I never mastered the art of nursing while lying down, and I was also eager to get Bridget sleeping in her own bed, and then her own room so I made the trip down the hall a few times a night.

As she got a bit older and bigger, we had a few troubles again since I had only mastered the football hold, and as Bridget grew, this hold didn’t work very well for us anymore. Our LC came out one more time and taught me a few other holds and we were off to the races. I know that there are many sources - books and websites - that show you how to do these holds, but I don’t learn that way. I need someone to come show me how to do it, which she did and all was right in the world again.

Then came the real trouble. Bridget would only nurse for 5 to 10 minutes per feeding before getting distracted by the sun and the cat and the air and pondering the theory of relativity. And anyone who has ever nursed knows, you cannot force a baby to nurse. It takes far too much effort on their part - you can’t even trick them into it. She only gained 9 ounces between her 4-month and 6-month check ups. The doctor was slightly concerned. He asked me to start supplementing her with formula. The first bottle of formula I gave her she took standing up in my lap, which is definitely something she could not do while nursing. To make a long story short (too late!) we struggled to prepare a bottle, nurse, feed the bottle and also work in solids. I sought the help of the LC again but I could not feasibly work in pumping to the already busy feeding time. I started replacing one nursing session per day with a bottle. Then I stopped nursing during the day, giving only formula but continuing to nurse before bed and during the night. But eventually that took its toll on my supply and resulted in a frustrated baby right before bedtime. Finally at around 7 months, I had to give up nursing altogether.

I was sad to stop nursing and felt like I had failed somewhat. But I realistically know that the outcome was just a result of her personality more than anything I was doing or not doing. And if anyone was going to be upset or traumatized by weaning, I’m glad it was me and not her. I’m very lucky that Bridget is such an amiable, adaptable kid. She doesn’t get too upset when you change her life around and took the whole thing in stride.

I never thought I liked nursing too much until I stopped. It was a great bonding thing between just the two of us. Not that you can’t bond while bottle feeding, but since I was the only one who could feed her, we just had our own little world where she would look up at me, and put her hand on my breast. I missed that a lot. But I liked having my body back to myself, not having to worry anymore over what I ate or drank. I could also let someone else handle those middle of the night feedings. Only problem there was that once she started getting formula before bed, she stopped waking to be fed in the middle of the night. Convenient for Jake, no?

Anyway, that’s our story. A combo of nursing and formula feeding. It worked out for us and I don’t regret any of it. I’m glad I had the chance to nurse. If I ever have another baby, I will certainly nurse again. But if I can’t or the baby can’t or won’t, I won’t stress about using formula either. Nursing is great but having a happy and relaxed mom is more important, and if nursing is the cause of too much stress, it’s not worth it in my opinion. Don’t let the boob nazis tell you any differently!

Returning to Normal

Thanks, guys, for all your kind words. I am very happy to have a benign diagnosis. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for that. But after all that crap, I STILL don’t really get an all-clear. I of course have the rarest of benign tumors - the phyllodes tumor. You can google it if you want but basically, they make up about 1% of all breast tumors. Of those, 90% tend to be benign, which mine is, but “the benign tumors, although they will not metastasize, do have a tendency to grow aggressively and recur locally.” Lovely, huh? So I take back what I said in my last post and if the surgeon tells me that surgery will help prevent this from coming back, then I guess I’ll do it, but damn. Haven’t my poor boobies been through enough?

On the bright side, I am feeling much better. No more pain, but I do have an itchy incision site and one hell of a bruise. Today my mom came back over, brought lunch, and then played with Bridget so I could take a nap. For some reason I’ve been really tired despite my excellent narcotics-induced sleep. But it’s been great to be able to hold Bridgie again. When I went to pick her up this morning, she laid her head down on my shoulder and gave me the biggest, longest hug she’s ever given me. It was wonderful and just what I needed after two days of not being able to hold her. All is going to be right with the world again soon.

Mostly Good News, Some Bad News

Mostly Good News: lump was benign.

Some Bad News: type of benign lump might require surgery to make sure that all the tissue was out.

I don’t have a lot of details yet since I haven’t talked to my doctor and obviously won’t until next week. My tiny bit of research tells me I might not need surgery after all, that it might be the ultra conservative way to go but perhaps not necessary. I’ll discuss it with my doctor before making any decisions of course. I want to be thorough but I don’t want another surgery if I don’t really need it.

As for today, I’m feeling  much better. Jake’s sister came over today to help me with Bridget and then my parents came over and we had dinner and they did bath and bed time with Bridget. I should be good tomorrow - no more risk of injuring my incision as long as I take it easy and don’t go lifting her over my head or anything.  Too bad though, I was kind of looking forward to another night of narcotics-induced sleep.