Who took my rose-colored glasses?

Who took my rose-colored glasses? Without them I’m in limbo-land, my own personal time warp. The pain when I move, or the sleep that won’t come, prompts mid-night pharmaceutical intervention and a late start the next day. But a late start to what? Reading on the patio if it’s not too hot, cleaning off my desk if it is. I’m bored and frustrated, unable to even go for a walk the past few days. I don’t even feel like writing but I’m forcing myself to do it.

I had reconstructive surgery 5 days ago and expected to feel way better than I do. I am so done with all of this. I was told this surgery would be much easier than the mastectomy so maybe my expectations were unrealistic. More scar tissue than expected means I have a drain I thought I’d be able to avoid. My skin is super sensitive to the clear tape they use to stick the drain tube to my torso so I feel itchy there and uncomfortable. The wide elastic band I have to wear tight around the top of my chest tethers the new breast in its place while at the same time punishing my old breast for something it didn’t do. And again the constipation! What is up with that!? Finally, just when I was thinking that I was feeling free of chemo side effects the very recognizable chemo-fatigue, which may re-appear over the next weeks/months, arrived late this afternoon. I’ve read every book in the house and finished the last back episode of Breaking Bad season 5 two days ago, so what am I supposed to do now? Watch Dr. Oz’s parade of misinformed women??? I’d never watched it before but that show pisses me off.



I interrupt this complaint-fest for a special bulletin:  The writing catharsis worked and my rose-colored glasses have been located. I apologize for the interruption. I now resume my regular programming. 

I just ran my palm over my scalp-full of luxurious peach fuzz (again and again – I can’t stop touching it!). Then I glanced down at my legs to see the best tan this freckled redhead has ever had, adorned with wispy, blonde leg hair. Yup, I’ve got the leg hair of a four-year-old. And the rock hard tissue expander is gone (along with its razor-edge torments to my armpit), replaced with my newly reconstructed breast, malleable and in its proper location. I’ll get the drain removed by the end of the week and probably be able to swim in a few weeks. With mastectomy, chemo and now reconstruction behind me, and only radiation left to go, I am ¾ of the way through treatment.

Ah, catharsis. Instead of oxycodone, maybe I should just write.

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