Dear PITAs...

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15, 2011 12:04 PM, EST

Dear PITAs...

Dear Tissue Expanders,

I've been thinking. I need names for you. Problem is, I can't think of two names that can express what a royal pain in the ass you truly are. So I shall dub you PITA (pain in the ass) 1 and PITA 2. Until now, I feel like I've been pretty positive. Almost to a fault, I have made cancer look easy. Well, that's all over. 

Someone told me that you would feel like areally uncomfortable underwire bra. Well, isn'tthat the understatement of 2012?! I will admit that I did succumb to this descriptive comparison just last week while I was explaining it to Mama. It's like I just want to wiggle around so that the underwire gets into the right spot...only to recall that I am not wearing a bra, and that I can't find relief from this discomfort. But after all, itis just discomfort. And who can't stand a little discomfort after what I have been through? 

And then I take you on a field trip to the Filling Station. You go from discomfort to dis-appointment! Holy buckets! Let's just say that the fill-up is the most pleasant part of this process, and that's the part that makes me want to pass out. By the time I leave the Filling Station, I cannot move my arms from the elbows north, and from the elbows down I am pretty stiff. My robotic movements must be somewhat entertaining to those around me. I'm your quintessential Southern girl who talks with my hands, so watching this is quite a hoot, I'm sure.

And then by the time I get home...pain. Why, oh why does my chest feel as though it has been placed in a vice grips? And why, oh why does it tighten with every passing moment? Wednesday was filling day. I was prepared for the vasovagal response to the initial fill (when your body wants to just completely shut down - or pass out - in a response to initial pain). I was prepared to feel like I was hit by a baseball bat, both in the front and the back of my chest. I was prepared to take Valium and pain meds to counteract this pain. I was NOT prepared to not get relief. I was not prepared for sleeping in a recliner because I was experiencing muscle spasms between my spine and my shoulder blades - pain so bad that there was little relief and no sleeping through it. I was so tired, and yet no sleep was possible. I was emotional. I cried for the first time in weeks, but it hurt to cry, so I had to force myself to suck it up and stop crying. But I still felt the emotion, and it still hurt. And if it hurts to cry, it hurts to laugh, which is mostly impossible for a mother of two small children. It hurts to breathe deeply, to cough, and don't even get me started on a sneeze!

Thursday I was scheduled to be off of work to recover. I called Dr. Q's office for a different medicine to allow me to sleep. It helped a little, but it wears off quickly. The pain was more intense, and the emotions were still high. I couldn't hold the phone to my ear. Any correspondence on Thursday was through texting (which allows me to keep my arms down) or via speaker-phone. I literally cannot hold a phone up to my ear. I cannot hold a glass to my lips. I was so tired. I slept on and off. 

Last night, I awoke, crying from the spasms. I grabbed my heating pad and strategically placed it on my pillows where my spasms would absorb the heat. I went back to sleep, and awoke in a sweat. It seems that heating pads cause hot flashes. Pain in the ass. This is for the birds. How is it that I can handle chemo and surgery with such "ease," but a little intense pain just tosses my Pollyanna attitude out the window? 

Today is better, but not great. I find myself in the recliner again, mostly because it allows me to shift positions without too much strain on my chest. I wish my core was stronger. I am already getting less saline than Dr. Q wanted, and now I'm tempted to ask him to put in less next time. This lengthens the process, and there is no guarantee that it will cause less pain. 

And so, PITA 1 & 2, I will agree with the many people who told me that you are the worst part of this entire process. You pretty much suck. You make it difficult for me to remain positive, when I have tried so hard to do that. It seems that all I want for Christmas is a higher pain tolerance!

I have at least 3 more fills to go, so I guess I should focus on the positive - when you are gone, I won't have to worry about 2 things - pain and underwire. 

Bean