Goody bags for vampires

Just to let you know, this post is about replacement boobs and drain tubes. So if this icks you, which is understandable, stop now.

Because there's even a photo with tubes and collection bags, which I put down at the very bottom of the post so nobody stumbles on it accidentally.

You've been warned.  

So. 

Eighteen days ago, I had a double mastectomy with immediate reconstruction. They removed 98% of my breast tissue, and once the breast surgeon was finished, the plastic surgeon put in two gummy silicone implants.

They also put in two drain tubes--one for each breast. I've spoken with three women, all of whom had two per breast, so four tubes, and four drain bags.

My tubes exited my body via a small hole on each side near my ribs, and then drained down into attached bags that collected the fluid. My drain bags were hand-grenade shaped clear silicone containers.

The good thing about these is that you don't have fluid buildup inside your body. It drains out. The danger is infection, as you have two holes in your skin being held open by tubes, plus these two tubes that start well inside you. 

So before you open the grenades, you wash your hands. You clean the open-close thingies (there is a word for this but I'm still pretty vague post-anesthesia) with alcohol before closing them.

The tubes are long, which is why you have clips for the drain bags. Otherwise they'd dangle and pull and bug.

I was instructed to empty them twice a day into a measuring cup, and then record how much liquid I was draining per side. You also have to "strip" the tubes--meaning you squeeze them from top to bottom to make sure they didn't clog.

After, you'd squeeze all the air out of each grenade to create a vacuum, and seal them up again.

The first night Nick emptied them for me. I couldn't imagine doing it, ever. But at that point I couldn't really imagine standing up unassisted, so.

By the next day, it was fine. Open, pour, measure, disinfect, squeeze, close. Weird, but fine. 

And then I'd stand there with a cup of blood thinking how bright red it was and looking at how much to write down. In the beginning it was 60 ml if I added up both sides.

Every time I did this, I felt like watching Twilight. Even though I was well into Buffy, as planned.

It took me a while to realize why.

And on a side bar, the plastic surgery nurse practitioner, whose name is Tammy, told me that her husband, who is from Spain, learned English watching Buffy. She was all, "Real people don't talk like that."

This is true. Real people don't talk like that. Also, Team Angel forever.

Now, if you're a person who picked at scabs as a kid, or if you popped pimples, then you may understand that stripping the tubes could become oddly compelling. Trying to get every last bit out of the tubes and into the container.

So these tubes, or anyway, mine, started on top of the implant, curved around the side, and exited my body over by my ribs. 

I didn't know this until my one-week appointment with plastic surgery. Or rather, I didn't think about where they started. Just where they ended.

The nurse who put me in the room told me to take everything off my top and put on the gown.

And I was like, "Even THE BRA?"

She said, "You haven't removed the bra yet?"

Oh, hell no.

I'd been wearing the recovery bra since surgery. When they sent you home in a recovery bra, they tell you you have to wear one 23 hours/day for 4-6 weeks.

Since I couldn't get the surgery or drain sites wet, and I hadn't made the jaunty trash-bag top they'd said I could use to keep that part dry, I was just bathing myself in pieces, using hospital wipes for my top half and leaving the bra untouched. 

I didn't want to see it, or touch it, or even give it much detailed thought, if I'm being honest.

The nurse said I could leave it, and Tammy would help me.

When Tammy, came in, she was delighted with my range of motion, my ability to move, my overall whatever.

Maude and I met Tammy at my first appointment. This time I introduced her to Nick and Nicole.

Tammy opened the bra to discover I'd also left all the pads that had been inserted as cushoins post-surgery. I was wondering why they'd included so many abdominal pads along with collection cups and alcohol wipes.

Because my bra was stuffed full of them.

Tammy very pleased with the way my surgical scars were healing.

A+ in healing! Same pleased feeling I get when my dentist tells me it's clear I've been flossing.

She said, "Do you want to see them?"

I looked down and the first thing I saw was two dark, curved ridges poking up under my skin. I think I squeaked.

Tammy said, "Those are just your drain tubes." 

Horror show. They looked black, but I assume that they were dark red, as the tubes themselves were clear plastic.

"Agh! It's like Guinea worm!"

Then I looked at the Tammy. "Do you know Guinea worm?"

I was all ready to explain Guinea worm, and how once they've reached maturity in your body you see them just under the skin...and then they make a hole and burst out and you have to slowly wind them around a twig or pencil or something until they're out.

But she said, "I do. I'll get a stick."

Tremendously impressed.

So I couldn't look, but Nick and Nicole and Tammy, none of whom were grossed out by the tubes, all examined them and agreed that they looked terrific.

Even at home after that I couldn't look. Every parasite I've ever had was intestinal.

We returned last week and Tammy took out my drain tubes and pronounced me fine to take a full shower.

Now I can look at them, but they're still weird.

She assured me that the weird dents from the tubes would smooth out. And in fact, I should not rush out and spend money on a nice bra for the next six months, as there's still swelling and shifting and what have you.

The best way I can think of to describe how they currently feel is abraded. Like maybe I dragged back and forth across gravel for like an hour.

Which I have not done.

And which would still be better than having Guinea worm.