Shut Up And Dance With Me

I love that song. It’s been on a near-constant rotation since May in my playlists, joined by Cough Syrup, My Body, and a handful of other songs. I realized yesterday that while I’ve been convalescing I haven’t been listening to much music. The reasons are dumb and mundane, but there’s something about it that is really important: I do better when I’ve got a playlist happening and am actively listening to it.

My Spotify playlists are really awesome right now. I keep adding and rarely remove, so putting them on shuffle is such a joy, with constant surprises. There’s another that I’ve subscribed to that an old friend made for me, it’s fantastic and labelled Recovery. Love it! Although I’ve neglected my Google playlists a bit. Anyway, music makes everything better, but at home there’s always a tv on. It sucks the energy out of the room and makes it hard to let the music in. Plus, let’s be honest, I’ve had the shit kicked out of me with the extent of this surgery. The overall result is that I haven’t been singing or dancing, which lifts the heart regardless of skill. We’re all rockstars when we want to be! It’s tricky to rockstar when every breath and movement hurts.

Anyway, I had a convo with #1 today and it made me put on UB40, whom I haven’t heard in forever, and I couldn’t help but sing Red Red Wine at top volume. With gusto and possibly a handful of abandon, although without much movement. I’m not that healed. It was refreshing, considering the weight life sometimes puts on my chest.

I’ve avoided talking about it, but even though almost everything is doing text-book perfectly with my recovery, there have been a couple of bumps along the way.

One big thing is that I’ve been struggling to cope with how much volume I’ve lost in my breasts. We all get used to certain truths about ourselves, and one of mine, one that I’ve fully embraced as an adult, is that I have a large bone structure and that my large breasts were always perfectly proportional. Now, I feel disproportional. It is a direct result of having an immediate reconstruction and forgoing the expanders. It’s just different. Now, my shirts fit differently and I need to donate my  D & DD bras. I knew I’d have to go through this, but sometimes it’s a surprise to see.

Another slight complication is that there is a bit of dead tissue on my right nipple. It doesn’t look bad, but there is always a possibility that it won’t heal properly. The sloughing of dead skin off both has also been a lesson in not freaking the hell out. I can feel them as far as the feeling you get when you get the chills and it makes them tingle, but as far as sensation on the surface of the skin, nope. Seeing a bit of dead tissue on my nipple sucks, though.

WP_20150812_11_38_24_Pro 2
Right
WP_20150812_11_38_41_Pro 1
Left

I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect visually from tissue damage with this. I didn’t know what changes in size, color, or anything were normal or abnormal. To a certain extent, that’s probably for the best because I expect the worst in every situation. Ok, so let me explain what is happening in those pictures just a bit. On Right, the very dark and whiteish parts are dead skin & tissue. So far, we think it is going to be more like a scab, where it will heal underneath the unpleasant portion, then that will slough off and I’ll look normalish. The dark parts of Left are also dead skin that is sloughing off. Kind of gross, definitely not appealing, except that the alternative is for the whole thing to die and fall off. Let’s all agree that the current situation FAR exceeds that. Another difference is that they are way lighter than before. I realize I shouldn’t care, it’s just one of those huh kind of observations. Like, Huh. I’ll be dammed. Look at that. It may or may not get darker again, but at least it’s there. Physically on my body. Living (for the most part). With adequate blood flow. So take that, stupid jerk first plastic surgeon! 

So that’s what’s going on there. Dr. Schneider put it this way:

If I were a professional athlete in perfect condition, it would still take at least six weeks to really recover and longer to fully heal.

He totally didn’t even look at me funny when I said, “Then I’m doing great! It’s because I’m a Rockstar.”

I meant it.

I’m a Rockstar.


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