Drain, drain, go away ...

It's plain the drains drive me mainly insane.

Ok - technically drain, singular, as only one of the original three remain, but it's clearly intent on sticking around for the long haul.

Jackson Pratt surgical drains are a very clever invention, and save lots of post-surgical woe by preventing dangerous fluid build-up. You can read up on them here. But they are awkward and uncomfortable, and emptying them is just a teeny bit gross. Depending on your surgeon (aka, mine), you're stuck with sponge bathing until they're removed, and the incision site is healed. They are held (read sewn) in place with what could (charitably) be described as upholstery-grade thread. The business end of the JP drain looks like this:

Eeewww

Yep - that's the part you don't see - the part that's in you, doing the draining. Sort of like wearable weeping tile, if you will. Bleh. A drain can't be removed until it's output is less than 25cc's in a 24 hour period. And my last one shows no intention of letting up. There's nothing you can do about it, except muster up some gratitude that it's doing its job. And maybe whine a little (or a lot) about it on your blog.  On the bright side, Sister Audrey sewed me some pretty pockets for holding the 'grenade' (bulb) end of the drains and several feet of tubing neatly tucked away. Thanks, Audrey!

Otherwise, things are really ok. I sleep a lot. I'm up to walking about 1hr per day (turtle pace). I work reasonably faithfully at my range of motion exercises, given that they feel exactly as pleasant as the surgeon warned they would.

Supportive Husband has been on 'vacation' (ha ha) for the last two weeks, and it has been more than great to have him around. When he wasn't doing laundry and otherwise running the household, we sat on the porch, went for little strolls, and made mini-jaunts to get me out of the house for tiny bits at a time. On one, we saw oriole parents diligently feeding their loud and demanding fledgelings - it all felt vaguely familiar. On the Blair trail, we had to avoid stepping on these little guys:

A baby toad in the hand is ... well,  just plain adorable

I can't garden yet, and definitely can't pursue my admittedly strange passion for mucking around with concrete (hey, it's a cheap and readily available medium), but its hard to complain when you have minions sweet people who will do it on your behalf:

Firstborn Daughter found a gorgeous elephant ear plant on sale for me, which inspired a bit of zentangling, which kept me out of trouble for at least a bit, anyhow:

I had my regular Herceptin treatment today. Big thanks to Friend Donna who provided cheerful accompaniment.

We are so grateful for the prayers for healing and recovery, and the delicious food that so many of you have so generously provided. We feel held and sustained by your kindness and grace, and know God's presence in these acts of profound thoughtfulness. 

P.S. For those of you who have kindly tried to leave comments here and have not been successful, I've changed the settings to allow for anonymous comments. Sorry about that ... took me a while to clue in. Not the sharpest tool, evidently ... 

Knit Together

If you have ever returned home after surgery to find your birch tree covered in brightly coloured knitted pieces (aka "yarn bombed") by your beloved colleagues, you'll know how I felt on Tuesday. Or I can refer you to my neighbour, who looked out her window to see a group of adults engaged in an act of good-natured hand-knit vandalism, and cried.

A year ago, a group of us yarn-bombed a tree in Rockway's courtyard. Afterwards, I reflected on how this seemingly pointless activity had worked to knit us together as a community in ways I could not have anticipated.

I never imagined that while I was being knit back together at St. Mary's hospital, more saints would be knitting together a message of healing and love on my front lawn. There are things to be gained on this journey.

Surgery went well, and I'm feeling pretty good. I'm working on my range of motion exercises to keep my shoulders from freezing up. A blessing from a friend's grade 2 student seems particularly apt: "May your shoulders not get rusty."

Next on the agenda: lose the necessary but annoying surgical drains. Hopefully next week.

The list of things we are grateful for is long: love, prayers, little visits on the porch, fresh food, frozen food, gift cards for food, flowers, emails ... and (not so) random acts of yarn-ness.

Getting some sister-love, post-surgery :)

When Life Gives You a Chrome Dome ...

 ... get a henna artist to use it for her canvas :)

A HUGE thanks to Bhupi Rajput - the incredibly talented artist at Henna4you who donates time at HopeSpring Cancer Support Centre as part of their Henna4healing program. I am thrilled to be sporting her amazing artwork on my noggin. Finally - a good use for my head! Bhupi incorporated 3 peacocks into the design - can you spot them? Check out the Henna4You website to find out more.

We were (ok, I was) desperate to go kayaking, but at this stage I am not really to be trusted piloting my own ship, even on a river as tame as the Grand. So we rented a double kayak. Paddling a double was a bit like wallpapering a room together, but we had a lot of fun. It was great to see an osprey, kingfishers, great blue herons, a red tail hawk, and be buzzed by swallows.

I met with my surgeon today. Surgery is scheduled for June 17. It will be a bilateral mastectomy, as well as axillary dissection (lymph node removal) on the left side. The surgeon kindly agreed to do what he can to make me look like Angelina Jolie. If you're not familiar with this cultural reference, click here. This is great, because Supportive Husband is already a dead ringer for Brad Pitt, right? (Note the nerdy very cool bluetooth device).

I'm eager to get on with the process, and am trying to stay focused on being as healthy as I can be for the surgery and recovery. Turns out it will be day surgery - who knew? In my mind, wart removal is day surgery. But my home care nurse is fantastic, so I'll be happy to get back home asap. It sounds like about 2 weeks of being "uncomfortable" with several more weeks of less intense recovery before radiation. I was hoping to be able to lose the portacath, but it stays in to facilitate the year of herceptin treatment.

We will not get tired of thanking you for your kindness and care for on this journey. We know we are carried by the thoughts and prayers of so many - it means everything to us.