Shape Shifter

I’ve been drainless (drain free? Sans drain?) for a whole week now.  I am pleased to say that I have no more crippling cramps which is absolutely a plus.  I’m not on any pain meds, not even Tylenol.  Yippee! 

Of course, I’m still quite puffy and swollen.  Additionally, Keith the Fabulous Nurse told me that scar tissue doesn’t begin to break down until after three months.   So really what this means is what I look like now isn’t what my bod will look like in three months.  I’m hoping that by my birthday in April, my torso will be rocking.  After three months, I’ll be able to start exercising again, so I maybe I can firm up some other giggly bits.  I guess it’s something to look forward to.

Compression socks = not attractive

In the meantime, I’m still sporting my way sexy compression socks.  The only time I take them off is when I shower (which I can do now, yay!) or when I wash them.  You can imagine how odd it looks to have tan compression socks in a washing machine full of black clothing.   

I am also wearing my binder 24 hours a day (again, unless I’m showering or it’s being washed).  I’m not talking “put your notes in a binder” here, folks.  I’m talking about a

Not this kind of binder...

body binder (think mummy wrapping with Velcro).  Because I didn’t have a traditional tummy tuck (most people just get cut from hip to hip; I got cut hip to hip AND from breast bone to pubic bone… we’re talking some 36+ inches of incisions), the traditional binder isn’t long enough to bind all of me.  So I have to wear TWO binders, one on the lower part of my belly and one on my upper.  Yes, imagine mummy because that’s what I look like.  

Very sexy body binder (not)

Keith the Wonder Nurse felt my pain – ok, not literally, but he was sensitive to my plight – and he suggested I go to Macy’s or something and get a body shaper.  He said it would sufficiently put pressure on my incisions and be thinner underneath my clothes.

Darryl, the best husband ever, took me to Victoria’s Secret. I was in a ridiculous amount of pain and was walking like a mummy, but if any of you are familiar with Vicky’s you know that the second you walk in, about fifteen workers come and ask if they can help.  Usually and I blow them off, but this time I wanted in and out.  I explained that I had surgery, needed a tight-tight body shaper to put pressure on my 36-inch incisions, and yeah, if it could come in black, that would be a huge bonus. 

This is not me.

Almost instantly, Vicky’s attendant found me this body shaper that had built-in panties.  I didn’t want built-in panties, especially since I was planning on wearing the shaper every single day and ew, but she assured me that I could wear undies underneath it with no problem.  I paid the $38 and was out the door.  No, I did not try it on.  I was in pain, and I didn’t think you really tried those things on. 

To be honest, one of the reasons I wanted the binder to be as lump-free as possible was because I knew I was going to visit my Gram for the family’s annual post-Christmas party.  Because Gram forbid me from having a tummy tuck, I needed to be able to hide it.  I was lucky enough to get the drain out the day before (bonus) but mummy binders would be hard to cover.  Even though it was under my clothes, it made me lumpy.  I wanted to show off my hard work.

When I got home and took the shaper out of the package, it was

This was the approximate size of the body shaper.

approximately the size of a Cabbage Patch outfit.  I took off my mummy binders and squeezed my bod into this tiny spandex bod squisher.  I looked like a sausage.  But you know what?  The pressure on my incisions felt really, really good.  I was ready to face my Gram.

The next day, we woke up and Darryl brought the dogs to the kennel. Tiernen and I loaded up the car with Gram’s gifts and dressed in our new Christmas clothes (guess what color I wore?)  I swallowed three Tylenol and stashed the rest of the bottle in my coat pocket. I knew I would need them. 

The shaper did its job:  it put the pressure on my incisions (not to mention sucking in any giggling bits).  I looked good! 

Post-Christmas was a blast!  Gram loved her presents.  The food was awesome.  We laughed.  And the best was… my bestie Michelle came to dinner.

This year, we decided to recreate pictures from high school.  They were taken in 1988 and 1990 and then on December 27, 2014.  (Now’s a good time to tell me that I haven’t changed at all!)

Michelley and me (1988) outside of Bayonne High

Gram didn’t know about my surgery, which was a bonus.  She said I was “too skinny” and that I “lost enough weight” and “needed to stop.”  She said she “likes me better fat.”  We’re Italian.  This is my family. 

Overall, it was a lovely time.

Michelle and me at the prom (1990)

But when I got home, I realized that the elastic around my legs on the 

shaper had ripped open my 

incisions.  No bueno.  Ouch, ouch, ouch.  Darryl had to put all sorts of bandages and triple antibiotic ointment on me to try to close up the wounds.  Ew.

Also not me

I went BACK to Victoria’s Secret and found a second kind of shaper ($44 this time), this one for women who have both a chubby belly and flabby thighs (I have skinny legs, by the way).  This one is a shaper plus biker shorts.  Yeah, not sexy, at all, but it puts the pressure on my incisions without ripping open my hip ones.  Bonus.  I guess.

Michelle and me, senior pic (1989)

Don’t forget to tell me how I haven’t changed.

Puffy

No one likes the end of winter break or any break for that matter, especially teachers.  For me this year, it’s going to be difficult to go back to work.

It isn’t that I don’t love my job.  I do.  I love my students.  I love being a teacher.  I know that sounds really corny, but I really do.  My students make me laugh every day, and I don’t mean laugh a little bit either.  I even have a bulletin board of quotes that my students say that make me laugh.  Some of my favorites from this year:

“Stop judging me.  This isn’t judging class.”

“Do you go to the bathroom EVERY day, Mrs. Nix?”

“You ARE disappointed in me!”

I guess you have to be there.  (But believe me, they are funny, funny kids.)

Besides hitting me with zippy one-liners, they are genuinely smart, interesting, dedicated teenagers.  I know that there are many negative stereotypes about teenagers out there (especially Proctor students), but none of them apply to mine.  Many teachers have said, “it’s just because you have AP,” but not all of my students are AP.  Even my non-AP students are awesome.  I just hope that all of my students realize that I really enjoy our time together.  I’ve missed my students and I hope they’ve missed me.

Why then am I so bummed out about going back to school on Monday? Well, because I’ve been out of school since December 12.  That was a long time ago… 23 days ago to be exact.  During that time, I haven’t thought about school.  I haven’t graded a paper.  I haven’t written a lesson plan. 

And it felt good.

That isn’t to say that students haven’t emailed me.  They have.  I haven’t responded.  They have texted me too and I’ve responded to those (but not to the ones on Christmas because that was just over the line!)  I just focused my time on preparing for my surgery and then on recovering.  I think I’m still recovering.

That being said, I am no longer in pain.  At my last follow up appointment with Dr. Sleeper, I only saw Anita.  She took the black sticky tape marks off my body and told me there was still fluid in my body (not enough to put the drain back in, thank goodness, though I did have a horrific dream that I had to have it reinserted!!!) but it would be okay.  I don’t go back until January 14, which seems realllllly far away (especially since I was going every few days).  I haven’t been on any pain reliever (including Tylenol) since Monday, so I guess that’s a good sign. My wounds are healing.  I’m getting better.

But I’m not ready to go back to school.  I know there is a tremendous amount of work waiting for me, a tremendous amount of grading.  Ten days after I’m back to school, my proposal class starts (my last class before dissertation… my proposal is basically the first three chapters of my dissertation! Scary!) 

I’m also a little worried about being awake for an entire workday.  I have been resting.  I have been healing.  I am worried about standing all day.  I’m worried about the physical pain.  I’m worried that people are going to look at me and saying “wow, you are still really fat.”  (I will still be swollen for three months per Dr. Sleeper and my buddy Keith.  My body won’t look the way it is supposed to look for some time… so I guess by my birthday in April.) 

Until then, call me Puff Daddy.   Or at least PuffY.

Tapeworm

I am so grossed out right now I can hardly type this.

Last year's family recreation photo 1.

I had my third follow-up appointment with Dr. Sleeper.  I was very prepared to be told that my drain was NOT coming out because I have yet to drain under 30 ccs of yuck (yuck meaning blood, pus, and the unnamed “other fluid”).  There was still a whole lot of pain going on at the drain site… still not sleeping… back pain… you know the same crap I’ve been writing for the past week. 

The Bosnian nurse’s name is Anita.  She called me back into the examination room.  I asked when all the adhesive tape was going to come off of my incisions.  She told me usually not until two weeks after the surgery.  It’s not that I really mind; it’s just that I figured that the longer it stays, the longer it’s going to take the scrub the black glue off of my body.  She got together all the supplies to change the gauze and waterproof the drain tube area so I can shower (which I can do now without passing out – yay!).  Then she took a look at my Jackson-Pratt tube, you know, the old grenade.

“This looks good,” she said, fingering the grenade.  “Yellow.”

I had noticed that my drain yuck had gone from blood red (literally) to pink to clearish yellow.  I didn’t realize this was a good or bad thing.  I just thought it was a thing, a fun experience of my tummy tuck adventure.

“It may come out today.  I’ll get the doctor,” she said, leaving the room.

Darryl looked at me and raised his hand to give me a high five.  I didn’t return it because I was afraid to get my hopes up.

Photo recreation 2

Of course I want the drain out because it hurts like hell, but I also had other motives.  I’m going to post-Christmas family celebration in New Jersey tomorrow.  It is a great time filled with tons of food and family jokes.  Last year we recreated old family pictures.  I hope we can do it again this year.

My Gram on her 85th birthday

So what’s the problem?  I didn’t want to do it with a drain.  I have a fair amount of baggy clothing (ok, all of my clothes are baggy) and I could probably safely hide the stupid grenade under my clothes.  But I wasn’t so much worried about Gram seeing the pump (her eyesight isn’t that great) as just knowing it s there. 

See, Gram just knows things without being told.  I wouldn’t’ say she’s psychic, but I do think she has some sort of sense of things.  I didn’t tell her I was having a tummy tuck because she forbid me from doing it.  I usually call her every day, but when I call her when I’m sick, even if I pretend not to be sick, she just knows.  Another example was when my brother Kenny and my sister-in-law Martha were thinking about getting pregnant.  They had been married for more than eight years and had pretty much decided not to have children.  When they told me they were thinking about it, it was both a surprise and a big secret.

Photo recreation 3

I was sitting in her living room and out of nowhere, Gram said, “I think Kenny and Martha should have a baby before I died.” 

I nearly choked.

Tomorrow, she might know I had surgery, but it would make it a million times worse if I had a drain.  It just would, believe me.

So yeah, I sitting there in Dr. Sleeper’s office with Anita going to get him with the possibility of having the drain removed was almost more I could stand. 

Dr. Sleeper came in with Keith in tow (he showed Darryl and me pictures of his kids today, two of the cutest little kids I’ve ever seen!)  They started pulling off all the adhesive tape (you know, the ones that I was just told wouldn’t be off until Monday).  Darryl watched and said, “wow” a lot of times because the scars were pretty minimal.  Dr. Sleeper told me which ones to put this sulfide cream on and to use alcohol wipes to get all the black sticky stuff (did he not realize it’s my color). 

Then he turned to Keith, “You can take it out.”

Did I hear that right?  The drain was coming out?  Now?  Even though it wasn’t under 30ccs?  I wasn’t going to question it because it was coming out!

“Is it going to hurt?”

Dr. Sleeper and Keith just looked at each other.  This was not a good sign.  I asked Darryl to come over and hold my hand. 

The whole procedure took about five seconds.  While it didn’t exactly hurt, it was one of the most disturbing sensations I have ever felt in my life.  I’m even having a hard time writing about it without physically feeling it right now.

It felt like a snake was slithering through my body quickly.  I looked over to see what the drain (the part inside of me) actually looked like.  It was a ten-inch long white flexible flat tube with holes in it every quarter inch.  I had no idea that was the part of the drain I couldn’t see.  I actually felt it move from my left hip to my right hip.  It was a horrible, uncomfortable, deeply disturbing experience.

Actual tapeworm (ew)

Then the cramping started.  Remember that my insides sort of got used to having this alien tapeworm in my body.  It was hanging out of me and it hurt, but inside, my muscles and organs and stuff were used to it, I guess. 

So now my outsides don’t hurt but my insides hurt with the worst menstrual-like cramps than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.  Again, I’m only on the way-useful Tylenol (sarcasm).  I hurt.  I’m cranky.

At least tomorrow I can just tell Gram I have wicked bad cramps and not be lying…