I've never enjoyed shopping. I don't know what it is, but I've never viewed shopping the way you hear most women do. And on-line shopping? Forget about it! Every attempt at on-line shopping has only taught me that people misrepresent merchandise about as well as they misrepresent themselves on dating apps.
However.
I'm also not one to enjoy sitting around my house all day, doing - oh, you know - nothing. For hours. All day. Every day. For days on end. Days that never end. I don't even really know what day it is.
I'm not allowed to raise my arms above my head or lift more than five pounds. Which doesn't seem like a big deal, until you go through a day a realize how much that really cuts out. Just pushing yourself out of bed can be a means for heavy lifting and extortionism.
So I sit in bed, thinking about all the things I can't do for another week or two while coloring my adult "Boobs" coloring book my sister-in-law sent me when it hits me. She sent me the perfect thing and she found it through on-line shopping.
Forget the coloring book - she also bought me a little silver bell. I know she was thinking I'd sit in bed and ring for services and my older son would just come running to my side like, "Yes, mother. You rang?" But clearly she hasn't witnessed me waking the dead with my screams, but my offspring with sic earbuds? Completely deaf to my decibels. BUT when he boot-scoots down the hallway past my bedroom I can fling that sucker and knock him on the side of the head!
Which is when I realize, as entertaining as that is, I could go on-line and shop for all the things to help me with what I am allowed to do now, and the things I'm realizing will make my life in post-op recovery a little better.
Things like:
Jigsaw Puzzles. I was so excited to do this puzzle, but at the hours I'm waking up now I knew I'd need some caffeine to help me out. My elbow decided to be helpful, and chose a more direct route between coffee and puzzle. Did you know that each tiny little puzzle piece is really eight really thin layers of paper compressed? And that coffee is apparently it's kryptonite?
Zip-up Sports Bras. Because the very sweet people at the local breast cancer nonprofit give each patient a special bra that they can wear home from the hospital. Which was clearly designed by a man. Who had no sense of fashion. Or comfort. This thing is about a foot longer than any shirt I own, with elastic around the middle that can break ribs in the name of "compression". Compression? What about compassion? C'mon man! I'm already down a boob, give a girl a break! You might not be able to make me feel sexy right now, but I'd settle for breathing and not-80. The zip-up sports bra has a lovely, breathable elastic and just the right amount of smooshing on one side, mixed with the proper padding on the other to give me that perfect asymmetric look that keeps people guessing how many breasts are in that thing.
Shout. Not the action (I don't need no Amazon for that!), the laundry spray. Because - and I may have mentioned this - fucking drains! About one night in every three I wake up looking like a shooting victim...and so do my sheets. I've never used a bottle of Shout so quickly in my life. And I've raised TWO sons! I'm almost at the point where I'm just going to buy new sheets each week. BUT, luckily for me - laundry is on my list of no-no's right now so let's see how long it takes my son to get sick of washing sheets and remaking my bed.
Extra-large No-Stick Gauze Pads and Surgical Tape. See above. Ugh. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to tape, untape and retape gauze pads around a drain tube sticking out of your side? But I refuse to walk around like a shooting victim all day and since infection seems to be at the top of the list of post-op concerns, then increasing my household first-aid department inventory just makes sense. I would have bought them sooner but my surgeon said I didn't need them, he'd be changing my dressings at each follow-up appointment. But I'm not allowed to shower. Or get my incisions wet. So I keep looking for infection to bloom in the bloodbath I'm creating regularly. And how do you know when you have an infection? The wound will turn colors and smell bad. Kind of like a blood-soaked, post-op patient who hasn't bathed in a week.
Space Bags. That's right - you heard me. Space bags. I will never unsee the first view I got of my chest after surgery. I took a tiny peek in the doctor's office when he took all the bandaging off. I immediately winced and turned my face away. But when I got home, it was all I could do - strip down and stare in the mirror. It's not pretty. It's kind of sad. I'd never seen a nipple-sparing mastectomied (mastectomized?)breast before. Honest to Betsy, it looked like someone took a royal purple round velvet pillow, placed it in a space bag and vacuumed all the air out of it. It was startling. I had no idea. But it reminded me that space bags would be really awesome to have next spring so I can store away my winter wear under the bed without taking up much space. And if I'm lucky, the plastic surgeon will be inflating my poor purple pillow around that time, too.
Silver Bells. For decking the halls? Nope - I'm so not ready for that yet. I was just thinking, there's not much chance my son will ever let me have that bell back, so if I ever want his attention again, I'll have to order a bulk supply of them. But the real question is, how am I going to get his attention to go get the delivery off the front porch and bring it to me?
**Disclaimer: In reality, my son is a phenomenal and attentive caregiver...no bells have been harmed in the humorous demands of his mother, who is not always the most patient patient.
Comments