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Okay, so last time, we left off with me complaining about the world. Let me tell you, there is far too much shit happening in the United States for me to even begin with, so let’s save that for our protest signs and BlueSky, ‘cuz we’re here to talk about surgery, drains, drugs, and family.

All right, so I broke out of the hospital with my sisters, Kim and Laura, when we realized I had too many flowers and no way to carry them. Well, we figured out a box situation, but we stole a couple of pillowcases to soak up the water we had spilled from the flowers I had been gifted. We figured my husband could return them as he works for the hospital’s warehouse. Yeah, that didn’t happen, so I threw them away to try and hide the guilt I was experiencing from stealing them.

If you have ever met me, you know I wear my heart on my sleeve and my emotions on my face. Still, I was a decent waitress; I had to pick the establishment correctly, of course. Anyway…

Finally, I was loaded into Kim’s car, and we were on our way home. I was pooped. As soon as we got home, I hit the couch hard and slept for hours, or until Kim woke me up to take medicine. We’re going to hop into the wayback machine while I explain what they did to me. This shit is graphic, so proceed with caution.

Insert wavy hands and fingers, again, like in Wayne’s World..

We’re going back to yesterday, right after I heard those words of encouragement from the wonderful nurse.

First, this is how it was explained to me, so I will follow suit and further traumatize you, too.

From my nipple outward to my armpits, they cut me open. The innards of a breast are mainly fat, nerves, and milk ducts. My cancer was in those ducts, so everything was coming out, EVERYTHING. So they basically melon-balled out all of my gunk, leaving only the skin and nipples behind, and leaving the nipples behind is relatively new. I was grateful, as I was already planning for tattoos and piercings to recreate some semblance of breasts. I like to think of those marijuana commercials when the kid is sitting deflated on the couch like a balloon. Graphic, sure, reality, ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY.

Then, my surgeon exits stage right, and my plastic surgeon comes in and jams some B-sized implants inside and stitches me up. Obviously, both surgeons performed the procedure with precision and care, but yeah, that’s the gist. On my left side, it’s still all fucked up, from the lymph node removal, which is why I’m all numb.

Okay, I literally had to scroll up to where we left off because I went off! Ha!

So for the next four to five days, my sister, Kim, took care of me, fed me, cleaned and dressed my wounds, managed my drains, and just provided a level of comfort only a mother could bring. Hell, it didn’t have to be MY mother, just A mother, and a mother she was. Say mother 5 times fast!!

Both Lee and I owe her gratitude because she got us through a really tough part of this cancer journey, and I am so blessed to have her as family; she’s another one of the good ones!

She had to leave after a few days because she had family who missed her, but for those few days, I was so appreciative of the help.

The length of time people wear drains varies. I got my right one out after three weeks, which is a long time, but my left one stayed in for a month, and then we had no choice but to remove it.

I went back three times to have my surgeon take a needle and drain it, barf!

But today, I am alive. Functioning got harder for the left side, but it was never really that good to begin with. I have some pain, but I have a surgery planned for Oct., that could really do some good, but boy will it be a bitch. I’ll be sure to update as I see fit during that time.

It took months to get to a place where I could shower alone, care for myself, or drive a car without feeling like I was going to tear my stitches.

Now, I’m a pro at stitches; I have six sets on my face alone. I was a reckless child, leading with my face first—sad but true. Thankfully, my dad got us into Karate, so I know how to fall correctly. But, to have your chest cut open and then stitched together again hits a bit differently. I have become much more protective of my chest and left side. I take many non-opioid pain medications along with medical marijuana to curb the pain, and that allows me to live a reasonably normal life. Give or take a few sensations..

Alright! I’m done! We’ll pick back up next time about what the hell else is going on in my life and more war stories, of course. I mean, that is why you’re here.

Stay Classy, San Diego

-KB