They’re even at last!

Monday was my final final final *crossing my fingers* surgery. Going into it, I felt a little like Veruca Salt. “I want perfect boobs Dr. Festekjian and I want them NOW!” “Festekjian…how much do you want for the perfect boobs? Name your price!” (I guess the answer to that will be arriving after the insurance adjustment in a few weeks!)

But really though. I did feel a bit…oh what should I say…spoiled? After all, I emerged from November’s implant exchange surgery with a pretty decent rack. After the swelling went down and I let things settle in for a month or two, I realized they were a good size and shape. But they weren’t perfect. And perfect is what I wanted, because, well–why not? After all of this–a mastectomy and an infection and reconstruction and all of these surgeries in the name of not getting breast cancer–I might as well get exactly what I want.

The main problems were the unevenness in nipple height and the rippling on the right side. But even the week before the surgery, when I sent an updated photo to a blog follower, she said they looked great and she thought I had already had the surgery to adjust the nipple height! For a moment there I considered canceling the surgery because I didn’t want to push my luck.

But…obviously I didn’t cancel it, and I’m sure glad I didn’t.

Per my usual routine, I spent all of Sunday chugging water like a crazy person to prepare my tiny veins to be poked and prodded. My mom picked me up from my apartment at 6:00 am on Monday morning. Jeani, bless her heart, had scheduled me for the earliest appointment because of the snafu that happened last time.

I checked in at the outpatient surgery center, changed into the sexy hospital gown and matching accessories, then chatted with a nurse. It’s kind of strange when you start to recognize the doctors and nurses…I’m pretty sure this particular nurse, who has been a vegan for over twenty years and always eats salad for lunch, has checked me in three times.

The most miraculous thing happened next. Brace yourself, because what you are about to read may rock your world and make you question everything you know.

A nurse anesthetist came in to talk to me about the anesthesia cocktail and start my IV. She was young, kind…unassuming. Little did I know of the POWERS SHE POSSESSED.

As is custom, my mom and I launched into our tirade about my horrible veins and the atrocities that have befallen me at the hands of IV nurses and anesthesia doctors alike in the walls of the UCLA Medical Center: the constant pokes, the unyielding veins, the need to “call in the big guns” and of course, the multiple PICC lines.

UNSCATHED by these warnings, the young nurse did persist with a smile. “I’ll have to numb you up then!” Haha, you fool! Numbing medicine will do nothing but make my uncooperative veins further retreat into the depths of my wrist/hand/arm/foot/every other part of my body, I mused as she left the room.

Moments later she returned carrying a tiny needle and an IV kit. As she stationed herself to my left, the noble Dr. Festekjian appeared, clad in a red track jacket. As we exchanged the standard hellos, the young nurse poked me with the numbing needle, warning me of a slight sting. “‘Twas nothing”, I murmured.

Then she started the long, daunting process of stabbing me with the IV needle to find a vein. I settled in for the long haul, turning my attention to Dr. Festekjian, when suddenly…within seconds…the voice of an angel rang out.

“All done! Your IV is started.”

A MIRACLE. It took her only ONE TRY, only ONE MEASLY POKE, to start my IV. I wanted to hug her, become her best friend, then follow her around from place to place for the rest of my life so she can always be the one to start my IV.

I was giddy with excitement at this point, but tried to remain steady while Dr. Festekjian played Connect the Dots on my chest with the pretty sterile pen. I figured that if I moved too much and the lines were uneven, it would be my own damn fault if my nips still looked lopsided.

A few minutes later the happy drugs were put into my IV, I was wheeled into the operating room, and then I was out. By 10 am I was awake in the recovery room, and I was discharged by 10:30 am.

Wisely, Dr. Festekjian warned my mom that I would be very bruised and very swollen for a while, possibly with some dimpling. I’m sure he was hoping to avoid the “WTF!” email he received last time. Even with the painkillers, I could definitely feel a dull soreness on my right side where he did all of the work. Even the arm fat near my armpit was super bruised.

I stayed home from work yesterday and today and took a shower this morning. I’m on antibiotics for a few days, and I’m definitely swollen; my right breast looks about one cup size bigger than the left breast, like I have a 1000 cc implant in there instead of 800 cc. And there is certainly some dimpling, mainly where the stitches are holding the skin up. But the nipples sure seem even and the alloderm seems to have gotten rid of the rippling, so I can’t wait to see how they look in a week or two!

My post-op with Dr. Festekjian is on Tuesday morning. I feel okay right now, still a bit sore, but I’ll be returning to work tomorrow. I did go on an hour-long walk this evening to stretch my legs, and that felt great. Hopefully I’ll get permission to head back to the gym next week. Interestingly enough, I am using my pit pillow again. It works well to support my arm when I’m on my computer and when I’m sleeping. Thanks again to my friend Kim who originally introduced me and my mom to pit pillows!

Pictures soon. Right now I’ve got them tucked up nicely in a sports bra so I don’t really feel like digging them out of there.

Instead, I leave you with a photo of the Chester Bug, keeping me company while I worked from home today. Isn’t he just the cutest little kitten? (Yes. I’m that person now. #instacat #catstagram #ilovemycat.)

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At last, a surgery I can actually call “cosmetic”

Greetings!

First off, I want to thank all of my readers for supporting Young Previvors after our Facebook trouble a few weeks ago. Our original group has not been restored yet, nor have we heard anything from Facebook about why the group was deleted. We have, however, started a new Young Previvors group. Our admin, Liz, continues to do a phenomenal job of screening all potential new members, so if you are a previvor or a high-risk young woman, consider joining us. You can email me or search for “Young Previvors” on Facebook.

Things have been uneventful in my world of breast reconstruction, but they’ll pick up a bit in a few weeks. My final-final-final-last-one-I-seriously-promise-you’ll-never-have-to-read-about-it-again-unless-it-looks-ugly surgery is on Monday, February 25. Dr. Festekjian will be doing some minor cosmetic adjustments.

When I saw Dr. Festekjian at my two-month post-op a few weeks ago, I was still concerned about the difference in height between my nipples. Although they’ve certainly improved since my initial implant exchange surgery, the right nipple is still noticeably lower than the left.

At the appointment, Dr. Festekjian asked me point-blank which side I like more. I told him the left side, and to my relief, that was the acceptable answer. He can make my right side match my left side, but because of the extensive work he did on my left side during the implant exchange surgery, he can’t make the left side match the right. Unless, he joked, I get an infection on the right breast. Har har har. Funny.

In the outpatient surgery, he will lift up the right nipple and put some internal stitches in place so it sits higher. He will also add a layer of alloderm underneath my skin, to cover up the rippling. I plan to take a few days off work, but given my quick recovery from the past surgeries, I expect to be back in the office by Thursday. Watch…now that I’ve said that, I’ll have some horrible allergic reaction to the ice cubes in the recovery room and be bed-stricken for the next two months.

Okay, moving on: I have some very important and exciting news to share with everyone. I’d like to introduce you to Chester Frito Horn, my new furry child.

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He’s an 18-week-old American medium hair. I officially adopted him from the animal shelter at 11:30 am on Saturday morning, then promptly sent him across the street to the vet surgery center to have his balls removed. Sorry, bug…YOU’RE IN MY WORLD NOW.

I picked him up this afternoon and he seems to be doing just fine. Here he is, Cone of Shame and all. He is now, in my parents’ words, a consultant.

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Cat people: how can I get him to stay off of the kitchen counter? I’m scared he’s going to set his tail on fire with the pilot lights on the stove!

Have a fantastic week, everyone. Happy Valentine’s Day!