Just a dull day

One of my besties texted me the other day, “Do you ever have a dull day anymore?”.

Nah.

Apparently, dull days, overrated.

It was determined on Friday. The Wildebeest had to say farewell to arms. My underarm, to be exact. It had become quite the pits. And had decided it wanted its own zip code.

If you’re at all confused about the Wildebeest or you haven’t been introduced, let me show him to you. And no, that is not a boob. But it might be bigger than mine actually are. Okay. Not might.

I know. That’s a weird photo. But it really highlights the enormity of this situation. The Wildebeest is ma ma ma my seroma. A seroma, is a pocket of clear fluid that can develop in the body after a surgical procedure. Mine popped up {and out. and all over.} a week or so after I had a sentinel node biopsy performed, and one day after I started chemo. It started small-ish. And then. Notsomuch.

They told me earlier that the Wildebeest and I were in it for the long haul. That due to the chance of infection and my low counts, draining the beest during chemo could be questionable. They performed an ultrasound when I was in the hospital and confirmed that it indeed was just a whole lotta fluid up in there. And so, it would stay.

And then… it just got too cocky. And so, on Friday, it had to go.

And while I hate to gross you out… since you’re on this journey with me… I’m just gonna say it… it was a gusher. The amount of fluid up in that puppy was impressive, even to my surgeon and her rockin’ nurse. And we had quite a few laughs over the size of him {because when I picture him, I think of that funny character from Where the Wild Things Are}.

They inserted a catheter to drain it. And now, I have a catheter hanging out with me for the next week or so until the beest is fully ousted.

Aaaaaand… I’m packin’ a JP, too. A JP is something I became familiar with when I worked as a Nurses’ Aide in college. They are rubbery/plasticky hand-grenade looking ditties that collect your sludge from a surgical site. I know. My life is hilarious. I mean, at least a little, right?

I will also get a couple of those bad boys post-BIG-surgery down the road so, it’s a good test run, if nothing else.

So, that was Friday day. Nothing dull about it. Thankfully, grandma and grandpa had one boy. Auntie had another. And my friend and another candidate for Sainthood {I know many, apparently} took the wee bambino for naptime. This all made the day flow very nicely. And man, though I miss my third breast I was starting to grow in my armpit {Adam and I discussed putting a nipple on it}, I have to say, I’m okay with the beest having evacuated the dance floor. Because honestly, it was starting to be kind of a pain in the pit.

As noted in my Friday post in Her View From Home, my hair had begun to fall. I could swipe my fingers through and without a single tug or pull, a handful of strands would come with each pass. So, I knew. It needed to go.

I set the boys up for the buzzfest first. The Oldest acted as if this was the first time in his entire existence that he’d ever met a pair of clippers. He screamed the entire time. Because apparently it tickled or something. I dunno. I was super understanding with his ridiculous behavior and it made me feel realllllly positive about shearing off my strands. Okay. I was highly irritated and gave him very little support with his screams because seriously. I was annoyed.

The Middlest, on the other hand, was absolutely darling and endearing throughout his entire cut. And I loved him for it. Because his sweet little voice saying, “I’m not going to be scared or cry because I’m thinking about how much fun I had at Bounce U with Auntie today”. Yes, think happy thoughts, I told myself. If my four year old can be cool with a cut, so can I. It’s just hair, after all.

And then, I was up. It was my turn in the chair. With a Clinging Cross I was recently gifted in one hand, a shot in the other, and a trash bag around my neck, I took my post. And just like that, with tequila and God in tow, my husband of ten years, shaved my head. I mean, talk about in sickness and in health, people. This guy is one in a million. And it was seriously really hysterical. And really, honestly, pretty uneventful in the way of sad emotions. Because somehow, I wasn’t sad at all. I was relieved that we are already here. That the chemo is workin’ its mojo.

We stopped midway. For a mohawk moment.

And captured a few pics of the last bit to go.

And at the end, my GI Jane style was in full glory {and yes, the Littlest was there but he was not interested in partaking in photos}. And the Oldest was only teary over the fact that the hair that had fallen on his body was itchy.

And crazily enough, I woke up in the morning, and my hair was still gone. And it’s only a matter of time until I’m completely hair-free. And yes, apparently, my roots are that dark. Who knew?

So now. Just like usual, I’m basically a trendsetter. Rockin’ a stocking cap and a fanny pack {it’s holding my drain! And thanks to Lyndsey for that ingenious idea and to Melissa for ascertaining the pack of the fanny persuasion}. And really, between the Wildebeest and the shave fest, Friday was a pretty memorable day.

One more paragraph in the story of “When I got cancer”. One step closer to working towards being cancer-free. And nine steps closer to being on the worst-dressed list for every day of my life.

And I’ll share a little video on my Facebook page, too… Because, it’s an event, people. And this week, maybe I’ll just have some dull days. Only time will tell:).