We’re in Atlanta comfortably ensconced in the Hyatt in Duluth, GA. Now that we’re here and I’m not distracted by Scott Sigler’s audio novel “The Crypt”, or the new novel by Maya Lassiter titled “Conjuring Raine”, I’m sick to my stomach, slightly headachy and a little dizzy. In other words, on the inside I am freaking the fuck OUT!
I can’t let Ken know how I’m feeling though (she says as she types a PUBLIC blog entry). He’s nervous for me too but I can’t get him to talk about it. I think that he thinks if he does, his stress will just make mine worse.
I’m glad that Patti prescribed two 5mg tablets of Valium though. I can’t take any tonight. They’re for tomorrow morning. But still, they’ll be helpful then. Right NOW, however, I feel like I’m shaking, but on the outside I’m steady as a rock.
I know a beer would take the edge off and help me relax. I’m just not supposed to have anything that will thin the blood. Especially not this close to time for surgery. According to this article, even moderate amounts of alcohol will act as a blood thinner. So I’m left with reminding myself to take deep breaths and remembering how well the reconstruction went.
I need to remember that this is Dr. Elliott we’re talking about. It’s not like I’m letting that quack that screwed me up before work on me. Dr. Elliott is world-famous. He has even created his own surgical techniques (including this nipple reconstruction that I have talked about previously) that actually work BETTER than the ones he adapted his technique from.
So why am I falling apart as I write this?
I’m chalking it up mostly to a fear of the unknown. They can tell me until they’re blue in the face that this will be MUCH easier than the breast mound reconstruction. I’m sure it will be. I mean really…I was on Oxycodone for a month because Dr. Elliott took parts of my back and move them around to my front. The first time I tried to get out of bed, the pain made labor look like a little tickle. I had times when I spiked at around a 75 on the 1-10 scale. And the elephant with barbed wire booties standing on my cleavage was a tad bit ouchie to say the least.
THIS is all topical.
As far as the actual procedure goes, I’m guessing they’ll have me strip and put on surgical stuff from the waist down. I don’t know if I’ll be laying down or sitting up. Will they strap down my arms? I’m afraid of being held down like that. I don’t want to feel helpless like I can’t move. It’s a very vulnerable position to be on my back and strapped down exposed to everyone.
Oh sure…everyone who has read this blog has seen my boobs on any number of occasions. But this is different. Actually I just noticed that the idea of being strapped down and that exposed made me tear up. The last time I was strapped down like that was for the first surgery.
And there it is. I can’t be strapped down. I’ll freak.
Maybe not though. I’ll have the Happy Pills that are supposed to keep me from freaking. Gods…I hope they keep me from freaking.
I’m going to have to have a talk with them in the morning and let them know how I feel about that.
I’m also scared half to death that the tugging and pulling I’ll supposedly feel will trigger a flashback to the debriding. I’ll REALLY flip out then. You want to talk about the possibility for a PTSD flashback? There’s the perfect formula right there. Strap me down, put the sheet up so I can’t see and then start tugging.
I’m scared of being scared and fucking everything up.
I’m scared of complications.
I’m scared of necrosis.
And I’m scared to tell my husband how scared I am.
I’ll let you all know how it went tomorrow when I’m able. Right now I’m going to go have a good cry.
Boobcast 