Here It Comes (Pt2)

I want to start by saying there are 2 pictures at the end of this blog, the first showing what drain sites look like and the second portraying the singular lowest and best moment of this journey. They are somewhat graphic and some nudity is shown. I added them in to go along with part 2 as a window into the story behind the words. I have said from the beginning that I will be as transparent as possible through writing about my experience and I feel strongly that it is important not to just talk about what has transpired but to truly share what parts of it look like. This one is a little long, y’all but in my heart, It’s all necessary. If you choose to continue with me, just know that I am inviting you to walk with me, to grieve with me, to celebrate with me and to stay with me until we reach the other side.

As I mentioned before, I did my very best to prepare for surgery and recovery. I read all I could read, I talked to everyone I could talk to. Like I’ve already said though, there were things I wish someone would have talked about, explained a little more and been more open with. The first three weeks absolutely fall into that category.

After surgery, when I came home, Chuck stayed off work for the first week to take care of me and to make sure my healing would begin properly. The early days of recovery, that beginning week, was the hardest. I couldn’t stand up or sit down on my own. I ached every time I moved and had no strength. Walking was even a chore, I shuffled everywhere I went and each step jostled the spacers in my chest which would make them rub and hurt. I couldn’t move unless it was to go to the bathroom and even then that movement was as little as possible. When I did go to the bathroom, I couldn’t go alone because I was physically incapable of pulling my pants down, sitting on the toilet, wiping myself, standing back up and pulling my pants back up. Chuck had to be my hands. He had to clean me after bowel movements and dry me when I had to urinate. He had to brush my hair for me, He had to get me dressed and he had to help me brush my teeth.

The number of times I apologized to him were endless. I wish there was a way for me to explain how much of a burden I felt like I was to him (and others who came to help him take care of me along with hoping everyone really did love me as much as they said they did because I couldn’t be by myself). It was almost as if I was an infant again, incapable of doing anything on my own and relying solely on the kindness of those in my life.

The drains made almost everything unbearable. I had 4 drains, 2 on each side, and there was no relief. None. Covering each drain was a disk and then over the disks, a tegaderm. To continue to hold everything in place and keep my swelling to a minimum, I also wore a compression bra with an ace binding. The pressure from the bra over the drain sites was intolerable. There was no amount of narcotics, otc’s, or muscle relaxers that eased the pain. There was no way to turn or prop up to relieve the discomfort. I had my drains for 3 very long, very miserable and tearful weeks during which I stayed in a constant state of irritation.

Twice a day, everyday, for as long as the drains are in, the tubing has to be stripped and the bulb emptied. So each morning and each evening, Chuck and I would walk to the bathroom, he would help me onto a sitting stool while he stood at the counter and we would see what progress had been made.

For each drain, he would take an alcohol swab in one hand and starting at the top of the drain, holding it with his free hand, he would slide the swab down the length of the drain, squeezing the fluid into the bulb. As each drain was stripped, he would then empty each bulb into a numbered measuring cup and chart how much drainage I had. This record was vital to us being able to move on to the next phase of recovery because there was a certain amount of drainage each drain was allowed to have each day. If I stayed below those numbers for 48 hours, I could have the drains removed. This is also why big arm movement, walking around or straining are so important to avoid; each of those things can cause excess drainage and can lead to the drains being left in longer than expected.

As long as the drains are in, there is no possibility of a shower at all. (Did I mention my drains were in for 3 weeks?) I had to be sponge bathed every few days and my hair had to be washed in the sink, all while holding towels over my drain sites so they would not get wet. It was terrible. At week 1, I was able to have 2 of the drains removed because the levels had dropped off and the fluid had cleared. I am at peace with telling you that I handled the news of only 2 of my 4 drains being removed like a great big baby. I cried tears of frustration, of anger and dang near despair sitting right there in my doctor’s office. I was going down hill fast.

We have a very close friend, Tiffany, who works in wound care and she was amazing during this time. She came a few times to bathe me when Chuck couldn’t and she was able to wash my hair the way I would have washed it, scrubbing and making my scalp feel amazing. She explained to Chuck about doing a lymph massage while bathing me to help with the swelling a bit and well…his attempt at it led to the lowest moment either one of us has had.

For starters, my hair matted so bad we thought we were going to have to cut the mats out. I was only able to sleep on my back (when the insomnia wasn’t in control) and I was a little more restless in my sleep than I think any of us realized. As Chuck worked on my hair, I worked to not have a meltdown.

Have you ever seen a homeless dog that has been neglected and walks with its head down, too skittish to even look at anyone? Because that’s how I felt. I was worthless. A burden. I was broken with no way of putting myself back together in sight. As Chuck struggled to brush my hair and keep from hurting me, as he did his best to touch me tenderly and not cause any discomfort, I was in a fierce battle for my mental stability, in that moment, inside myself. I watched him in the mirror as I sat on this stool naked, with every flaw bared, fresh incisions shining, drains aching in a way I didn’t know anything could and found myself putting words into his mouth, imaging how disgusted he must be with me and with our current situation.

Once he had finished with my hair, he began to wipe me down, cleaning my skin, trying again, not to cause any pain. When he moved to my arms, he started on my right side and began to emulate the lymph massage Tiffany had taught him. I watched his face as he worked, still expecting his revulsion to shine through, still berating myself for not being more. He worked his way up my arm and instead of stopping short of my armpit, he continued on, putting pressure on an area where lymph nodes had been removed. Pain exploded under my arm and I cried out. The very second my cry registered with him, my internal struggle was silenced by the pain on his face. He was genuinely shocked and hurt, as if my pain wasn’t my own but was his, as if he felt the fire in every nerve ending.

Opening my eyes after shutting them against the pain, I looked back into the mirror and saw us for who we really were. True enough, I was broken but I was not irreparable. I was not worthless but a work in progress. I was not a burden, I was a wife in need, leaning into the man the God gave her to walk through life with. He was not disgusted with me or our current situation, he was afraid for me, of hurting me and wanted so badly for me to heal and to be better. I wasn’t broken alone. We were broken together. When that realization hit, I asked Chuck to take my phone and take a picture of me sitting there because I wanted to remember that moment. I wanted to remember how lowly I felt, I wanted to remember the moment I realized I really truly wasn’t in it alone and I wanted to remember the moment that was both the worst and the best testament to how my recovery affected me and affected him.

Chuck went back to work that 2nd week and we depended on family and friends to continue on in his absence. It never got easier but it did get better. Week 3 finally saw the last of my drains come out. I can not begin to describe to you the relief I felt when that last drain was pulled. It was equivalent to standing on top of a mountain and looking down into the valley that I had just climbed out of. I could see the rushing waters that tried to drown me. I could see the wild fires that did their very best to consume me. And I thanked God for bringing me through it all.

Those first three weeks were a living hell. No exaggeration, no holding back, they were hell. Looking back at them now, I know I did not get through it alone. I was covered in prayer daily by loved ones but most importantly, I was covered in prayer by my husband. Through his love, his support and his prayer, God was openly shown to me daily. In the moments I didn’t think I could go on and I felt alone, I was reminded that God was and is always with me. I could see it then but I couldn’t see it as clearly as I can see it looking back now. I guess that’s why they say hind sight is 20/20.

Wherever you are in life, whatever situation you are facing, I hope my words and my experience shed light on the truth that it will pass. It might not be easy. It might seem like the most impossible hurdle to jump. It might feel like the night will never end. But it will. It will end. It will pass.

It might pass like a kidney stone but it WILL pass.

I hope in a couple weeks we meet again on the next leg of this journey.

See you soon!

-Amy