Send in the gawkers!

After a long but happy day yesterday, we finally got home around 7:30 pm. Echo was so exhausted, she went up and flopped on the futon, refusing to move or even open her sleepy dog-eyes. And me? The stitches are out. Ah! I felt like Pinocchio being released from my strings! And no more long drives to and from Charlottesville for 5 weeks. Ah!

Plastics lived up to their reputation, pulling out all the stops and keeping us entertained. Hanna Richter, a resident who was present at my initial diagnosis back in September in Dr. Brenin's clinic, is now doing a rotation with Dr. Lin's clinic, so she and I have travelled this together--she was one of the diagnostic team that found the other cancer in my right breast, and she was part of the surgical team at my reconstruction surgery (I saw her in the OR, just before I fell asleep). Hanna did most of the work yesterday and we had an opportunity to chat. She is doing surgical rotations at UVA, but is actually a student from the University of Freiburg, Germany. You'd never know, as she speaks English perfectly, with only a trace of an accent that could easily be attributed to Minnesota or Wisconsin.

As usual, I spent the day with my shirt off in front of strangers. Normally quite a modest person about nudity, I have to say I'm getting used to it. And the strangers kept coming in--a woman I'd never seen knocked at the door and said "Ooooh, I want to see too!" from behind the curtain. When I asked, "And just who are you?" she laughed and said, "just a nurse, but Dr. Lin said I had to come and see, he's so proud of the work he did on you." So now I've become a testimonial, I guess.

Bill made the observation that the enthusiastic optimism exhibited by the Plastics people is most likely for my benefit--they may not be as crazy as I make out. I think he may be right. The obsessive cheerful positivity of all of them is a powerful reinforcement for women who have been through such a major loss. To have a room full of people smiling and congratulating and asserting how great you look can't help be a motivator to start thinking of your new body as something to be proud of, something that looks good.

After admiring my healing properties, my symmetry, my reduced bruising and my general all-around awesomeness, they asked if there was anything else they could do for me. I was a little embarrassed, but I mumbled my problem. "Lint," I said. The sticky post-surgical adhesive was still stuck to my chest, and I had started collecting little bits of fuzz, thread and yes, even dog hair. My new cleavage looked like a dryer lint trap, and I couldn't scrub it to get it off (hurts), or use any kind of solvent to remove it (skin too close to stitches). Could they help?

Enter Hanna and a bottle of strange-smelling oil, the color of pink grapefruit juice. She managed to get most of the fuzzies off and the glue that kept it there. She also taped my incisions with steri-strips, so now I look like a Barbie who just came home from the first-aid station. Dr. Lin wants me wearing a bra, but when I complained that I'm still too chafed to wear one for more than an hour or so, he suggested big, wide ace bandages instead, so Hanna and a nurse made me a "tube top." Wow. For the first time in my life, I can wear a tube top!

Jean asks where Bill has been through all of this--was there an initial "unveiling" of the new me, when the bandages came off, and how did he react? Bill has been right next to me through every single step of this, from the initial exams to the last kiss before the anesthesia kicked in, to the icky first let's-help-you-get-dressed-to-go-home moment, to the crowd-pleasing clinic viewings of yesterday. There was never actually a formal ~ta-da~ of bandages coming off, more like a here's-your-wife-take-care-of-her. He's washed my hair and cut my toenails, sponge-bathed me and dressed me, lifted me up and off the couch, emptied my surgical drains and hauled me out of the tub. He's seen and done a lot of gross stuff in the last few months, and still manages to tell me everyday that I am beautiful. He says that in his dreams now, I appear in the new body form, not the old, supposing that this means his subconscious has accepted it. I'm not there yet, but I'm getting there with his help. I am awed by his devotion and care.

Today, we are busy. The satellite people are coming to install high-speed Internet, my present to us for our anniversary. My hated dial-up service is scheduled to quadruple in price on Dec. 8, and why should I pay that for something we hate? With the satellite, we also won't need the extra dedicated phone line, so I can justify saving some of the cost that way. We need to go to the post office and Walmart, where a new phone system also awaits our pick-up. We will be learning new things over the next few days, cleaning house and getting ready for my mom's arrival on Dec. 4. Almost like a normal life. I've told Bill that as of today, he is a free-agent, a man who can go back to work as the spirit or opportunity moves him. He doesn't think I'm ready yet, but I am getting stronger daily and will be able to cut him loose if he needs to go.