Kona IMWC Encore: Exiting Stage Left

”Exit stage left.”  Theater.  To give the impression that someone is exiting the stage and will keep going off into the distance toward open possibilities.

“Holomua.” Hawaiian.  To move forward.

A final race rehearsal was planned two weeks from race day.  Mark supported a big day out, the race plan checked out perfectly and all systems were go!  A few days later, we started feeling quite unwell. Then we tested positive for COVID. Sad, oh so very sad trombone.  

Once in the clear, I was able to nurse my way through a few low intensity workouts, though they didn't look anything like the pretty plan laid out so carefully months ago.  Sigh.   I got the green light to toe the line and was game to give it a go, though I still felt a bit.... compromised?

Race morning.  Surprise!  Late the night before Kyle had flown in from Oahu, snuck into the condo like a ninja and was suddenly in the kitchen!  Mom and dad had their virtual fan club accoutrements and were ready to rock.  My cup runneth over already and we hadn't even left for the start.

Boom went the start cannon it was on!  I swam well within myself and pretty darn straight, by the look of the Garmin file. On the bike I’d dialed back the plan, but it was still a lot of fun and I felt good.  Starting in the last swim wave, I spent most of the ride passing other ladies and exchanging encouragement.

Early in the run: High fives to Mark and Kyle with my parents on FaceTime. On to the Queen K: Things were still fine… until they weren’t. Holomua.  Move forward.  Out of the Energy Lab:  Mark with impeccable timing and words of encouragement.  I was going to get this thing done, but it wasn’t gonna be pretty.  I fought for each (ever shortening) step. I didn’t stop, not once.  Holomua.

The famed right onto Ali’i drive and the crowd draws you to the red carpet finish line.  Over my twelve Ironman career I’ve had some objectively great performances - the best was at this very race in 2016.  It’s one very hard thing to finish an Ironman when things are going well.  I may be the proudest of finishing this one because it wasn’t.

Towards open possibilities. Holomua.

1️⃣ Swim start with Mark and Kyle.

2️⃣ Let’s do this!

3️⃣ Swam straight.

4️⃣ Virtual fan club accoutrements.

5️⃣ Bike spot: Go to the ocean and stop before you get wet.  The volunteers called it the penthouse.

6️⃣ Race morning dawn view from the penthouse.

7️⃣ Transition bag mojo: Mom knows I’m a sucker for a sticker.

8️⃣ On the run while Mark and Kyle FaceTimed my parents.  📸 Teammate Carl.

9️⃣ Proud!

🔟 Holomua.

One Last Dance at the Big Dance

Racing took an abrupt detour after Kona 2016 straight into a cancer diagnosis and a lot of… life.  Seven years, four surgeries and two moves later finds us happy, healthy and in what we hope is our forever home. Our cup runneth over.  And yet…. that feeling of unfinished business.  Let’s make it to a start line one more time. I’ll retire from Ironman on my own terms - tend a garden or become a yoga instructor - something much more zen.

Training went well. My body is different, but it works and I can do the damn thing and for that I am truly grateful. I knew I was as prepared as I could be and proud of the work I’d put in.  We were looking forward to spending quality time with teammates we chat with daily yet rarely see in person. Heidi and Robin were driving in to support and Brian was flying in from Michigan! 

Race day went by all too fast and all too slow at once.  A solid swim, bike and run and I arrived at mile 20 running well with a doubled resolve for retiring at the finish line. Then there was Robin with this little nugget at mile 20.5: I was within striking distance of a Kona slot.  That was absolutely the worst news and the best news all at once after years on the bubble, just missing out due to this or that.  The bubble is not a particularly fun place to be.  

What that meant for me in that moment was I had to really be sure I’d emptied the tank. No regrets, no surrender. One more time.  My back was on the verge of completely imploding, every port-a-pottie beckoned like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow and my quads were about to break up with me once and for all. I hadn’t walked yet and didn’t intend to start now. I thought about those that couldn't. I thought about the times I couldn't.  I thought about what a privilege it was to be in this moment. 

Then, the roar of the crowd on Sherman Avenue, the finish line hugs.  Bottle that and sell it.  Mark, Heidi and I walked back to the swim start. I just kept right on walking straight into the water, shoes, kit and all. Glorious. The sun set as we chatted about how the day unfolded.  We are going back to Kona. One more time.  🌺

1️⃣ One Last Dance

2️⃣ Mark and Heidi at the finish

3️⃣ Team mojo swim 

4️⃣ Swim course race day vibe

5️⃣ Team mojo bike

6️⃣ Thumbs up on the race day bike

7️⃣ Post race refreshment 

8️⃣ Mark, Heidi, Robin and Brian 

9️⃣ “Jennifer Edwards, Aloha!” 

🔟 Mark as the sun sets on our day

Squeaky.   And what she taught us about time.  

I didn't want another cat.  Mark was in an impossible position.   Our current count was four and Squeaky would put us at five. To be fair, I didn't even really know her.  For some reason I'd drawn the arbitrary Crazy Cat Lady line at a six-pack and in my head five would put us precariously close to going over the edge.  Mark's dad had passed away, his mom was moving and she wasn't taking Squeaky.  Squeaky would either be relegated to becoming the neighbor's full time outdoor barn cat at thirteen years of age or we would take her.  I was pissed. Mark envisioned coyotes, cars, cold.... and knew it wouldn't end well. He fought for her.  So she came.  

Showing off her vocabulary

Napping buddies before she came to us

Upon arrival it became clear, nobody puts Squeaky in a corner.  In the assimilation process we started her out in the fifth wheel.  We figured she'd find comfort in something familiar as it was the very fifth wheel previously owned by Mark's parents and she seemed to know her way around it.  The first night she shredded the screens trying to get out.  She was promptly rewarded by being graduated to the large garage.  There she literally swung from the rafters and, after about a week, broke out a window.  Well then.  In to the house she came to own the entire second floor where she had run of both our offices, the pain cave and a large bonus room. Still, in the mornings she let us know this was wholly unacceptable!    By the time we moved to Oregon she'd assumed her proper place as Queen running both floors of the entire house, plus the garage while purring herself to sleep on my pillow each night.  

Nobody puts Squeaky in a corner, petulant toddler edition 

Swinging from the rafters 

With five cats all in their teenaged years, we came to call our household "Chateau Edwards Home for Geriatric Felines."  Falling in love with a thirteen year old cat made me angry all over again.  Why hadn't we just taken her sooner?  How much time would we actually have with her?  How could we make the most of the time we did have?

Hanging out at work

She was our constant companion with a huge, sweet personality and an extensive vocabulary. In the mornings she'd come running to sit on laps for coffee and supervise workouts.  In the office she hung out on my keyboard and made herself known in meetings.  Sometimes if the meeting required some modicum of professionalism, maybe one that would be best without a cat licking your face, I'd try to get her to settle on my lap, aim the camera up and hope for the best.    We took walks on a harness outside, she laid on my chest for foam rolling sessions and thought hanging out in the shop with Mark was absolutely the coolest thing ever.  

Mark's shop buddy

Alarm bells started to go off when she started to lose weight.  The diagnosis didn't seem to fit. She continued to lose weight and, after a couple of months, I pressed for a second opinion.  Yep, misdiagnosis.  I was pissed all over again. "I feel like the clock is ticking." I said to my mom as I watched her wither away. "The clock is always ticking." Mom said.   

 Stage five clinger status firmly established

We cherished every moment even more dearly.  Walks on the harness eventually became walks in our arms.  She took in the scenery and purred and purred and purred. She was getting the right treatment but was still slipping away. I fed her constantly like a baby bird to no avail.  Then, it was clear there was no time left.   The vet helped us say goodbye at home, still purring in my lap.   "And poof, she's a memory." said Mark. 

"Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind." - Nathaniel Hawthorne

Grass is good

Our next family member will be welcomed to our home, newly dubbed Squeaky's Sanctuary, with open arms, even if we do get a bit close to that Crazy Cat Lady line.  Squeaky taught us that we have plenty of room in our home and in our hearts but only so much time.    

Simply Begin Again

Simply Begin Again.  These may be the three most important words we learn in meditation: Simply Begin Again. For the uninitiated, here’s a short primer.  You’re going along your merry business, you know - meditating, thinking about thinking about nothing, doing your thing,  then *BAM* you’re thinking about something. D’oh!  No worries, you simply begin again.   It’s the cornerstone of a meditation practice that helps you clear your mind and feel a sense of stillness.

Progress?  Stillness, however is something I’m decidedly NOT good at.  After the highest of highs and the lowest of lows that capped off 2016, we spent most of 2017 wrapping up the remodel of my chest and getting back to normalcy.  Late in 2017 our time was gladly invested in some family matters that put training on the back burner.  Even so, the swim, bike and run fun seemed to be progressing along nicely. Well, progressing nicely save for continuing to baby an Achilles problem that has oscillated from a niggle to a sidelining injury for several years.

A Team Win! By March 2018 we had a nice solid win in the books for #TeamEdwards.  I took third place female amateur overall at the Olympic distance Lavaman and Mark also had a super fun race.  There we also had a good visit with my brother. He jokes that if we come 3,000 miles, at a minimum he can come 200 and had made the trip over from Oahu to join us.  All in all - good times and things were looking up.

*** A Team Edwards Win ** 

Turning a Page? We headed home from the Big Island ready for the next chapter…. except this one seemed to never end. Family concerns continued - they were by far and easily our priority. The Achilles seemed to throw up a flag with any sort of distance, speed or trail work that could lead to building to an Ironman marathon.  I kicked the can down the road on a couple of Ironman registrations and registered the first DNS (Did Not Start) in my IM career.  Sigh.  Perspective.

Checking the Boxes. Summertime came and I started really making sure I’d checked all the boxes on getting my foot right for running:

• I ran slower and slower and less and less. It got worse.  Dangit!
• More physical therapy. I find PTs are usually miracle workers, but alas, the magician was out.
• Tons of massage.  It didn’t fix the foot but we’re keeping it in the maintenance protocol!  You know, purely for the physical benefits… 
• Switched to a completely whole foods plant based diet.  Nope, this didn’t fix the foot either but  is by far one of the best decisions I’ve made in my life. Also a keeper.
• Changed shoes.  This showed a glimmer of hope but ultimately wasn’t the winner.
• Revisited my lab work.  Yep, all good in the ‘hood.
• So. Much. Yoga. Obviously keeping this one as well but nope, not a fix for the foot. 

A Second Opinion.   Fine. By fall of 2018 things had settled down and I finally went to a doctor for a second opinion on my foot. One x-ray and MRI later, it turns out I had been misdiagnosed several years ago and had been rehabbing the wrong injury.  The doctor came out with a “you have a very interesting heel” and a genuinely surprised look as he pulled up the image.  Officially I was battling a couple of things that would never go away no matter what I threw at it. These including what’s called a Haglund's Deformity on the back of the heel and what turned out to be a cyst in the bone where the tendon inserts on the outside of the foot.  Yep, that spot riiiiight where it hurts most.  Whelp, at least I hadn’t been imagining it.  We dub thee: Frankenfoot!

*** MRI Image with the Two Main Culprits *** 

A Gameplan The solution was complete remodel of of my ankle around the Achilles area.  The surgeons would hack off the Haglund’s deformity making a clean path for the Achilles to move over.  Additionally, they would detach the tendon from the bone at the point of the cyst and carve it out to get to some fresh, happy bone. Then they’d reattach it with threads strung through three holes drilled in my heel. Finally, they would perform a gastrocnemius release to loosen the tight calf in an effort to “future proof” it against other maladies or recurrence downstream.  The surgery had a high success rate and a long recovery period. I waited for the punchline.  It would be at least four months to even think about a return to running.  Cue meltdown #1.

Again For some reason not being able to run AGAIN almost exactly two years since the last surgeries began was really hard for me to get my head around.  I’d never made it back to the form I expect of myself or been able to race an Ironman in the interim.  I was frustrated I'd been barking up the wrong tree for several years.   I’d seen people come back from horrific accidents, babies, Lyme disease, etc. yet I couldn’t get out of first or second gear.  And now I was about to go back into park.  Again.  And not be able to run for several months. Again.

*** Herb Brooks, Coach of the 1980 USA Hockey Team ***

Demolition Surgery was held in early November and by all accounts went well. Mark was, as always was a trooper and put his Super Sherpa skills to work.  I was nicely drugged up but surprised, frankly at the pain level.  Turns out, even though you may have been through worse, when shit hurts, it still just hurts. Especially when the nerve block doesn't work. D'oh!

*** Demolition Day! *** 

I have a new friend, Scooter, that gets me around the house okay and binged watched Nurse Jackie all the way to the finale the week after the surgery.  Needless to say I was doubly motivated to get off the pain meds!  Meltdown #2 occurred sometime in the middle of the first week. I’d backed the foot into the dishwasher on Scooter (OUCH!), hadn’t been able to do any semblance of exercise since before the surgery and the internal workings of my digestive system had come to a standstill. Right.  Off the Oxy we go.  Meltdown #3 was a sneaky sucker.  It crept up at the appointment where the surgical splint came off and the cast went on.  I'd been hoping for a walking boot but that idea was quickly laid to rest by the doctor.  And frankly, it looked and felt horrible and no where near ready for walking.  Frankenfoot indeed.

 *** Frankenfoot at splint removal and casting. ***

*** From Diagnosis to Surgery to Suture Removal and Casting *** 

Warning: This clip contains images from the actual surgery and of the suture removal.  If that isn’t your thing - give this one a pass!  

Onwards. This is what training looks like for the time being.   I’m swimming with a waterproof cast cover dragging “Frankenfoot” along slowly, but successfully. Much to Mark’s chagrin,  I figured out I could spin gently on the bike with the cast strapped in (safety first!) to at least break a sweat and keep my mind right.  And I’ve taken a stab at water running which is just as boring as it sounds.  Pro tip - bring tunes!  Hopefully next week more restrictions will be removed and we’ll continue to progress.   My fingers are crossed to be allowed into the hot room to start making my way back to yoga, even if that means just rolling around in a puddle of sweat on the floor. Right now that sounds downright glorious! I’m taking my mom’s advice and keeping my eye on the prize, one day at a time.

*** Current "Training" Protocol ***

Gratitude.  I am grateful for my health, which in the grand scheme of things is pretty darn good.  I’m grateful for Mark who puts up with whatever shenanigans I may drag him through, including this episode.  I’m grateful for my family who support my decisions and parents who brought kitteh presents on their visit to their housebound kid.  I’m grateful for my friends, their random check-ins, humor and for the coffee dates I had almost daily for the first couple of weeks post surgery.  I’m grateful that the training I able to do right now is just a glimpse of what it looks like every day for physically challenged athletes. Some day I will not be able to do these things. Today is not that day.  And so we simply begin again.

Living Glorious

Living Glorious

Depending on how you like your math, it’s been about 245 days, 36 weeks or a solid eight months since we began an unexpected adventure on Adversity, Boobs and Silver Linings. Wow, that seems like a really long time and a very short time… at the same time!  We are overdue for a quick and final update.  So... a brief note on how I'm feeling, what's next and what YOU can do to help stack the deck in your favor follows.


How am I feeling? Well, to really embrace the sentiment, it would be best to indulge me a tad and watch this music video, Glorious.  It’s about a grandson taking his grandma out for a spin. Double dog dare ya not to smile!

*** Glorious Captures Aunt Gloria Perfectly - Serendipity Defined!  ***

As the eldest in a family of five, my mom's sister Gloria assumed the family helm when my mom was very young.  Aunt Gloria had a zest for adventure and a self-deprecating sense of humor that would sneak up on you.  Adventure? She drove a little RV across the country from New Jersey to visit her baby sister in Washington state. En route she'd cook dinner for her blind husband and manage the RV all by herself.  Once she got here we took a Redneck Cruise Ship, otherwise known as an Alaskan State Ferry to Anchorage for more adventure.  Aunt Gloria didn’t take herself too seriously, even when she started getting forgetful.  Heck, she figured...  there were benefits to being able to hide your own Easter eggs!

*** Boogie Boarding, Mom and Gloria, Mom in Kona and Mom on Manta Dive ***

What's next?   Well, we’re off to Live Glorious, whatever that comes to mean.  For now it is delightfully and purposefully undefined with a zest for life as we know it.  So far the theme of the shenanigans seems to be a lot of bikes, swimming, mountains, yoga, friends and oh - more mountains, more bikes and a tad of Type II Fun.   Racing?  Well, that’s a tricky one.  It depends on how the swim, bike and run come around. I’ve chosen to enjoy this bit of space and not even begin to consider “what’s next” until at least January of 2018. Yes, I intend to race again and most certainly am training.  Only time will tell when fitness starts to become fast-ish again.

Stack the Deck in Your Favor! As a final public service announcement, consider what you are doing to get on top of anything nefarious lurking in the health of Future You. Although the last few months was certainly by no means easy, we all know it could have been a lot worse.  None of the choices I had were particularly fun, but they all had a very good prognosis because it was caught EARLY. Please get on and STAY ON your preventative maintenance.  Future You thanks you and I do too!

Living Glorious. So, the book is closed on Adversity, Boobs and Silver Linings.  We are moving forward with enormous gratitude for the embarrassment of riches in support we received throughout this bumpy ride. The mammograms and colonoscopies especially warm the heart, if not your tender bits.  I’ll do my best to honor that gratitude, the living example that is my mom and the memory of Aunt Gloria.  The first few chapters of Living Glorious have been pretty darn amazing.  Who knows what the turn of the page will bring!

*** Living Glorious, Chapter 1 ***

Hello from the Other Side

Hello from the Other Side

Well hello from the other side! Thank you for the kind words and notes. Despite my attempts to will it to be so, this round has definitely not been a piece of cake. Certainly easier than the round first which benefited from a full week on 24x7 narcotics but no, not much fun at all. As I understand it this is due to the additional rearrangement of the musculature.

Nope – not quite. 

They don't look perfect underneath but they don't look like Freddy Krueger got a hold of them and that's a win! Knowing that the right side got extra scooping to get rid of the bad stuff in Round I and the left got some extra rearranging under my arm in Round II, I think they're going to be just fine. Other than the surgical markings they look pretty normal in a T-shirt and they are much softer than the appliances! Phew!  

Yay drugs!

Considering there's extra dressing on one side and surgical markings up top it could be worse!


Presently we are in the midst of Operation Hard Boiled Eggs. For the future reconstructive surgeons out there: We want these implants to adhere to their "pocket." This is typically not a concern for cosmetic augmentation as normal breast tissue solves for that. In my case, fluid (envision the white part of a raw egg) is the enemy. Increased heart rate = increased blood pressure = increased fluid = Jenn's eggs never set.  We want them to adhere so that I can get clobbered in a future mass Ironman start and have them stay in place.

The type of implant I got is a newly approved silicone "gummy bear" cohesive gel in teardrop shape. If you cut a gummy bear and a half you'd have two pieces of gummy bear. Same idea here and thus no leaks! For now, we need those eggs to set.

 Here's what they look like in motion: https://youtu.be/bjigPq-8dec 

Gotta love a guy who goes to Costco the day before Valentine's Day and doesn't overpay for flowers. Plus he makes sure they are kitty approved.  The only other item in his cart? Gummy bears. Because… gummy bear implants.... 

Always.

The Boob Dream Team continues to be AMAZING. I am forever grateful for their support and the rally of our collective tribe. I also continue to have gratitude that I'm fighting to get back in the saddle not fighting for my life. We are at over 30 mammograms now - keep them coming! The new doctor brings a ton of mojo (he's not hard on the eyes either… ) and I'm sure will provide an additional mojo infusion at my next appointment.

THANK YOU!!!

Freddie Kreuger’s Handiwork, Beheading Medusa and Making Like Flat Stanley

Freddie Kreuger’s HandiworkBeheading Medusa and Making Like Flat Stanley 

Luckily very few people in our lives have experienced breast cancer.   Even fewer have had a “double mastectomy with delayed immediate reconstruction” as the process we are in the middle of is referred to. Uh, does that mean it’s delayed or immediate?  One of 10,000 questions we’ve explored.

If only it were elbow cancer, we could pull it out and show it to anyone who asked.   Alas, it’s breast cancer and sometimes people are weird about breasts.   Whipping them out in the middle of Costco is generally frowned upon, though it has almost happened. Twice.   In spite of that, almost without exception each kind soul in our world actually DOES seem keen to know more about what’s going on under the hood, if only from a place of understanding and empathy.

Your pectoralis muscle went where?  

You have the equivalent of two small deflated basketballs stitched to your chest wall why?  

You're STILL relegated to lying flat as much as possible?  

Medical Stuff Alert: Yep, this is my blog, it’s what we are experiencing and a lot of it isn’t pretty. Clearly the level of detail is what I’m comfortable sharing publicly… moreover I actually find it cathartic. In this post are a couple of photos of stuff that’s a lot less fun than triathlon.  Don’t worry, there aren’t any full-on shots of my nekkid breasts, but there are some close-ups of where the drains came out with some red fluid, an incision, etc.  If gory details aren’t your thing, please, by all means pass on this one! The last thing we need to do is scare people away - we need all the mojo we can get!

 Rest assured, you can’t offend us with your mojo proclivity. 

It’s gladly accepted in all forms including smoke signals, wizardry, drunk texts and karma points. 

_________________________________________________________

FREDDIE KREUGER’S HANDIWORK: DECONSTRUCTION

The “Deconstruction Surgeon” is a fabricated title created early in this adventure when we came to realize there would be two surgeons involved at the initial surgery.  More than one of a thing and I tend to get confused.  Then we learned there could potentially be an additional or several additional surgeries.  We now know there will be at least one more surgery, hopefully the final reconstruction in a couple of months.  The deconstruction surgeon’s official paying title is a “Surgical Oncologist” which essentially means she has a shit ton of education and specializes in hacking out cancers. I see her “one job” as simply: Help me live.  You know, little things.

To begin, an incision was made at my rib cage in a 180 degree semi-circle on each side. Then, the surgeon went to work carefully scooping out the breast tissue and a few lymph nodes for testing. The nerves and blood vessels to the skin were severed in the process.   Although the nerves are not expected to regenerate, if all goes well the blood vessels will.   As she explains it, the tricky part was scooping out as much breast tissue as she could, especially on the right side.  That's the side where the cancer was found, lest it harbor a rogue cell with a wild hair up it’s bum.  The surgeon balanced the precise scooping with leaving enough fat on the skin that blood vessels would have a place to regenerate.

These ain’t no augmentation incisions, Toto. Sixteen days post-op.

With all the deconstruction complete, my thin, fragile breast skin was handed over to the “Reconstruction Surgeon”.  Her official title is a “Board Certified Plastic Surgeon” and by all accounts she wasn’t given a lot to work with.  I can only imagine the stink-eye from across the operating table.  Her “one job” as I see is is to take what’s left and make it as pretty as possible.

Placing a final breast implant at this surgery, our “Plan A”, went out the window pretty quickly.  Stretching the thin skin over an implant and hoping for the blood vessels to regenerate would be an exercise in futility and a recipe for necrosis.  Google “necrosis” with care - barf.   Instead, she lifted and reorganized my pectoralis muscle and placed “tissue expanders” where the final implants will go.  Think of these as small deflated basketballs that are tacked to my chest wall with sutures at 3, 6 and 9 o’clock. The expanders will be inflated in a series of saline injections to stretch the muscle and skin such that it can accommodate the (modestly sized!!!) implant.  This is our new Plan A, formerly Plan B.

For those in the back of the class: This means my PECTORALIS MUSCLE WILL BE IN FRONT OF MY BREASTS!  Nutbar. A "Something About Mary" reference comes to mind.  How did you get the frank above the beans?  I can definitely already see and feel the difference and am still getting my head around that.

Me: "Doc, how will this impact my swim stroke?"

Doc: Blank look.  Blinked twice.  Moved on.

Finally, the plastic surgeon stitched me back up and placed a “surgical drain” on each side.  These drains went from inside breast area down and out my side at the rib cage.  Freddie Kreuger would have been proud!  The drains soon became known as my “Medusa tubes” and the loathing commenced almost immediately.

Cranky.  That’s how I felt swinging those dang Medusa tubes around the house all day.  

Oh and desperate for a shower.  

_________________________________________________________

BEHEADING MEDUSA

Once the drug-induced fog lifted I became keenly aware of the gross-factor and the practical implications of the surgical drains.  Seeing and feeling them all day and all night provided no mental respite from being in recovery.  The surgeon didn’t want anything even close to tight-fitting on my skin, including the specially designed camisole with pockets to hold the drain bulbs. Getting dressed for the rare “public” appearance for a doctor’s appointment produced a tear-fest of clothing changes and tube wrangling.

Kinda like this but only one per side. And not smiling.  

The timeframe estimates for the drains to come out varied wildly and ultimately depended on the output of fluid.  It needed to be below a certain level for three consecutive days and luckily there is an app for recording that!   I found myself carefully squeezing fluid out of the bulbs over the bathroom sink channeling a low output,  fantasizing about being able to shower and longing to wear a simple oversized t-shirt.  In the end after all that obsessing and measuring, they came out rather abruptly.  A bandage had become askew and a semi-urgent trip to the doctor resulted in a surprise beheading of the Medusa tubes.  She didn’t even see it coming - oh happy day!  Mark videoed the retrieval and when I finally got the nerve to watch I was seriously impressed with how much tubing came out from under the skin.  And seriously glad I didn't watch. Ewe.

Woulda been nice to actually get to wear that camisole that's scrunched around my waist properly.  

Just sayin’.

_________________________________________________________

MAKING LIKE FLAT STANLEY: LAY FLAT.  LAY FLAT A LOT

Standing nekkid in front of the reconstructive surgeon at the first post-op appointment I knew right away she didn’t like what she saw.  The right breast was much more swollen and red than the left.  “How long has it been that red?” she asked with a wrinkled forehead.  “Uh, since I first saw them… maybe day two.” I offered.  She poked suspiciously at every bit of skin, watching the capillary reflex with skepticism.  Her assessment?  “It’s struggling.”  Gah.

It’s not bedrest, but for now gravity is not my friend. The basic physics of it is my breasts will feel gravity whether I’m standing in the kitchen or sitting in bed.  That gravity will cause fluid to pool, increasing swelling,  thus pressure and thus less blood vessel regeneration mojo. The right side is probably struggling a lot more because it got scooped out a bit more thinly.  The resolution is to lay flat.  A lot.  I get it, in the big picture I’d much rather forgo training right now then face skin grafts. I'd love to lose more weight off my butt, but not that way!

Making like Flat Stanley looks pretty much as unexciting as it sounds.  

Like this ^. Or this ^. Or this ^.  

I do feel that the Kona Cervelo T-Shirt plus two cats should count as extra mojo!   

_________________________________________________________

CURRENT STATS: BECAUSE LIFE WITHOUT STATS IS NO FUN!

Days Post Deconstruction: 16

Mojo Level:  3/10 - Already hit what I hope is rock bottom and on the way back up!

Gratitude Level: 10/10 - Where to begin.  Clearly there will need to be an entire post on this.

Perspective Mantra: Thankful to be battling to get back in the saddle instead of fighting for my life.

Restrictions:  Lay flat a lot.  Permission for "gentle stretching" but not to raise the heart rate above elderly couple stroll level.  Don’t sweat.  Don’t get incisions wet for more than a 5’ shower.  Don’t go disco dancing on New Year's Eve.  Most importantly, don’t whip ‘em out at Costco.

The permitted "gentle stretching" in cat pajamas while Mark generates mojo.  

Good times!  

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With much gratitude.  - Jenn