Jaci Dawn

I am almost a week out post-surgery. There isn’t anything to write about as my memory begins to fade and events become jumbled together. The recovery is worse than the surgery. Waiting is worse than surgery. Surgery is sometimes all about waiting.

The highlights of the event include needles, blue dye contrast, bruising, and a little swelling. And waiting.

The odd thing about waiting is that once things start happening, they happen in a whirlwind of motion until – abruptly – it is all over. You get sent home for another round of waiting: waiting for the pathology report and waiting for the three week recovery time to get past so you can lift five pounds again.

This has all been a pain in the behinder for me. I hate waiting. I hate waiting in waiting rooms, on hospital beds, and on time to pass. I am a useless appendage when I can’t be up and doing things – and I *want* to be doing some things. Certain things. Things like pulling the weeds out of my flower beds before they reach three feet in height, bloom, and go to seed. Things like planting more flowers in my garden beds. Going to the grocery store alone! Doing anything but light duty.

It has been unseasonably hot for this area. One day, it was ten degrees below normal and raining. The next day – BOOM! – it’s in the nineties (Fahrenheit) and the ground is turning to hard clay before your eyes. I love me some hot summer days, but not days when I can’t haul hoses or watering cans (five pounds!) around to water thirsty plants. I also like to become acclimatized to sudden death summer. (And it isn’t even summer!)

So I am waiting. Sitting in a lounge chair, sipping water or beer and doing nothing except watching weeds grow faster than the flowers and unable to do anything about it.

WHINE.

I know, I know: you feel this deep empathy for me, a great sorrow at my plight. I appreciate that. Once I post this, I will get back to that lounging and wining (er- whining) and you can feel even more deep sympathy for me. Poor Jaci.

Enough of that. There was a little tracker injected into my breast last Wednesday. Needles. The tracker helped the surgeon find the lump and was removed with the lump. That was two needles: one for the lidocaine and one for the tracker. Thursday, the blue dye contrast was injected into my breast. No lidocaine but two hurts: the initial poke followed by the sting of the dye. Needles.

After surgery, my pee turned Smurf blue. My breast was Smurf blue (except where it was bruised violet-blue). The blue lasted around eight hours. The bruise is still violet-blue, but now has tinges of yellow along the edges. The colors are all very brilliant and spring-like.

That’s it. We’re still waiting on pathology (which will determine if there is more to this story or not) but in the meantime… I’m going to go sit in the shade, read a book, and watch my peonies bloom. It’s my waiting game. I know you feel sorry for me. 😊