Man. I did it again. Fool. I took another narcotic. So I spent last night, and this morning, on the couch watching a PBS special on the crested black macaque, and subsequent programing (ending with Sit And Be Fit - that's where I drew the line). Boy are they cool, by the way. The macaque. I'd been doing fantastic, healing great, keeping busy (gotta love itemized taxes), and enjoying the sunshine and our exuberant garden, when, out of curiosity yesterday morning in the shower, I removed my bandages. Wrong move. Big mistake. I underestimated the roll of the tape. Definitely an important feature in regard to placement, and security, of my stitched fleshy parts - at this point movement and gravity are still smarting enemies. I wanted to see how things were looking, though, because the incisions were getting tickly, and ichy. The red breast tissue surrounding the bandages had given way to a nice sallow yellow, showing clear signs of healing, so I started peeling away at the tape. One thing led to another, and before I knew it I was standing in front of the mirror, dripping wet, checking out my franken-boobies. It all happened so quickly, almost trance-like.
The surgeon did a magnificent job; I was truly surprised. I mean, I shouldn't have been since he's a well known reconstructive surgeon, but still, when they're cutting in such sensitive areas you never know how it will turn out. Looking at my sliced breasts, my eyes welled up a little. Immediately, it was because he did such a precise and beautiful job, but the second wave was because of the relief. The relief that it was over. I have a habit of moving forward, stepping over or around any hurdle in my path. I get scared while I traverse the new territory that I must overcome, but it doesn't stop me, I keep going. But sometimes, after the fact - once I've had a moment to regroup - I catch moments of reflection where I realize just how hard the bumps have been. Once you're out of the heat, you can breathe, and let your guard down, and allow yourself to morn for your body. That only lasts for a few moments in my world, though. I find it tedious and dull to feel bad about things. I have all the human emotions, but I don't like to get caught in the toilet bowl of sadness for too long. Thankfully, my attention span for sad things is very short. Maybe it's a defense mechanism. Who knows. Who cares. All I know is that I'm a lucky (or annoying) person who is easily delighted by both sunshine, and raindrops, volunteer plants growing in cracks on sidewalks, sharing a bag of baby carrots with Emma (she gets all the fat ones, and I get the skinny ones - it's our deal), the delicious scent of pollen carried by the wind, the memory of my niece and nephew's laughter. I'm an easy keeper.
Before and Current. The garden is taking shape! Time to get out and continue the never ending job of weeding. (In the background you'll notice my rudimentary trailing system for my sweet pea fence. Can't wait for that to grow in!)
