These days I have an interesting silhouette. I imagine my stomach has always been this big; I guess I just never noticed because I couldn’t see it beneath my boobs! (Which come to think of it, often used my belly as a resting place…) So right now I kind of resemble Yogi Bear or maybe Wimpy… If I didn’t know better I’d accuse the doctors of simply shoving my boobs into my belly. (When I asked the surgeon about this today he assured me they had not!) Add to this my two drains that end in little hand grenades that are pinned under my shirt—increasing the bulk—and you have a truly chic look.
My hair as seen in silhouette is a frozen tableau of mussy-ness. It retains its bed-head shape because while I have had it washed for me (as I stand bent over the kitchen sink) I haven’t truly showered and so I can’t believe two or three pitchers can really be considered a good rinse. Ah, at least I still have my hair. We are looking at the bright side of things are we not?
It all comes to this: I’m dirty and itchy and lumpy and misshapen and everyone who visits me tells me I look great. Oh yeah? You should see how great this looks. I can hardly look at it myself-- at this lumpy, dimpled, puckered line that runs across where my breasts used to be.
Tomorrow it will be two weeks. My daughter and I have cabin fever. I have been reprimanded for using too many water glasses. It has been suggested that she is getting cranky. I have been assured that I am getting cranky as well. There are only so many food network shows a person can watch in between Oprah and Ellen.
I know what all this impatience and frustration means. It means I am healing. So when I catch a glimpse of my styling-self in the mirror (a hazard in a house with mirrored doors everywhere) I just laugh.
As for my cranky daughter, I am trying to limit myself to one water glass for the entire day, and trying to put my dirty washcloths in the laundry basket, not on the floor, and trying not to feel guilty for being so happy that she has come home to take care of me.
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