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 ...