Of pain and... more pain

When morning finally came, and I was allowed to return to my hotel, I was very eager to leave that hellish hospital bed. I did not shed a tear over leaving those awful compression leggings behind as well. My mom set me up in bed, and I slept most of the day, still feeling a warm, generalized sort of pain.

I was wearing a compression suit that goes from mid-thigh to the bust line. That thing is so tight, I feel like a Polish sausage about to burst when I'm in it. Imagine having to squeeze yourself into a bodysuit 4 sizes too small. It takes my mom all of her strength to make two clasps overlap long enough to lock. This suit, I have to wear 24h a day for 4-6 weeks. At this point I would like to remind you all that I am currently in Costa Rica, where it is hot and humid. Yeah. This wonderful piece of textile technology has a convenient slit between the legs to allow one to answer the calls of nature without having to step out of it. Unfortunately, the designers of the garment did not expect the wearer to have just gone through a labiaplasty. This turned out to be the biggest nightmare of my early days, until I told mom to just cut up a bigger opening. At that point, things below started improving slowly, but remained painful until day 7ish.

I also have a drain that comes out of my pubic area. The drain is a tube that runs along my scar, under my skin, all the way around me. The two ends come out of the pubic area where they meet in a Y-shaped connector which leads to a container. This is to collect all the extra blood and plasma generated by the body as a reaction to the trauma. I have been lugging this bag-o-blood with me for 9 days now. It sucks. Between that and the labia, it is not possible for me to sit upright. For 9 days I have been lying down or sitting at a 40 degree incline which means my weight rests exactly, you guessed it, on my incision line.

I was also wearing a compression bra for my new jewels. Again, the piece of clothing is not designed for someone coming out of an arm lift and the arm holes go high in the armpit, rubbing against my permanently humid incisions. Much pain came from this as well, and the arms are the reason I pushed back my second surgery. I do not want to be an invalid from top and bottom simultaneously again.

It's been a very hard week on several levels. For several months leading up to the trip, I trained very hard. 45 minutes of cardio a day at 80% of my maximum heart rate, with strength training added in the last few months, every other day, to reinforce my abs and other upper body muscles that would likely be affected. I felt healthy and strong when I got here. The day after surgery, I fainted from the effort of peeing. I had overestimated my strength or underestimated the trauma, but the result was that it turned out to be even harder physically than I had imagined. Emotionally, the ups and downs of pain gave me huge mood swings ranging from mere grumpiness to late-night despair. I think the hardest part has been the helplessness. Relying on someone else for the most basic needs. It made me think quite a bit about those who live like this for a lifetime, not just a couple of weeks. I've also seen how much work it is for someone to take care of a disabled person, and I understand how parents of such children can end up splitting up or sink into deep depression.

The adventure has been full of surprises so far. I thought the lower body lift would be my biggest source of pain. The stomach part has been virtually painless, save for a bit of straining around the belly button the first few times I tried sitting up on my own. The butt only hurts because my body weight pushes on the incision over 20 hours a day, but it is more of a soreness type of pain. The breast surgery was completely painless. The labia and the arms, which I thought were the most minor procedures, were by far my greatest source of pain.

I was scheduled to have the thigh lift done today. Yesterday, I met with Dr. Cohen, and asked if I could push it back a bit, due to still having significant pain in my arms. Ironically, the dictionary word of the day for yesterday was "footless." Omen? In any case, I am going back tomorrow, for surgery, at 10 am. It is often said that fearing the unknown is bad, because our imagination can run wild. I am now of the opinion that fearing the known can be much, much worse.