There is a monastery in Bhutan; it is called "The Tiger's Nest." Sometimes in your life it feels as if you've been scaling a mountain, bloody hands and feet, clinging to nothing, trying not to look down or look back. This week was like that for me, in my body, and in this head, and tonight it feels as if I pulled myself up and over and now I can rest inside the temple.
I've been in a war for awhile now, and even when I think I'm out, I'm back in again. This week was a real challenge for me, and even though I was prepared, I was not prepared.
I have been reminded, again, that you can do what you think you cannot do, if you do it in baby steps and surrender to it. And pray real hard. I pushed through some long days, sleepless nights, and discomfort that gave little rest. Although this journey is at a new beginning, I'm only on the first step but at least that first awful step is done.
Faith is taking the first step, even when you don't see the whole staircase. Martin Luther King Jr.
Thank you Jesus, the breast drains came out today. I had to take a deep breath when right after removing the first drain, the resident micro-surgeon says "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"
I could have done the flying kitty bitchslap on him. I could have, but I refrained.
Not sure how to describe to you what Flopsy and Mopsy look like right now, but it's rather freakish. Not even remotely boob like. More alien like. Like two alien eggs have been implanted into my chest when they took me up into the spaceship that hovers above Stanford. The alien eggs will grow and stretch my skin until they are ready to hatch. They are high up on my chest, I suppose where perky boobs once used to be, but Flopsy and Mopsy haven't seen those heights in 30 years.
Every guy has his technique I suppose. When breast surgeon, The Wizard, pulled out drains after the bilateral, he told me to cough and ripped them out of me with a yank, like pulling on a lawnmower cord. It was startling but over before I finished the cough.
The guy today was nice, Dr. Careful, and his technique was "Let's pull on this as slowly as we can" and no coughing necessary.
I'm going to swear now.
Damn I hate those breast drains. I hate em going in and I hates em coming out. Like a damn snake slithering out of your body and biting you as it leaves. I agree with the TMackQ, they are primitive instruments of torture that should have no place in modern medicine. Thank you Sister. They are just plain wicked, painful, a bother, annoying, and I'm going to swear again.
Damn I hate those breast drains.
Tonight if I could,
and had the shoes for it,
I'd be doing Riverdance, if not for this pain that happens when I jiggle.
I'd be doing it Baby.
One week after surgery, I've now finished up the Vicodin, the stool softeners and laxatives. I've taken the last of the antibiotic that wreaked havoc on my flora and fauna. And let there be music, the drains are out and I've had my first shower in a week.
When you've been through hell,
you are reminded that the simplest things in this life,
like the kaleidoscope of Fall leaves all over the front yard when we got home today,
are heaven on earth.
I am taking off shoes,
lighting a candle,
chanting prayers of gratitude
inside the temple
that sits on top of the mountain
inside my head.
So much of this life are these solitary journeys we take, even when those we love are all around us.