What happens next?

My surgery isn’t that far away now and Dick The Shit will soon be consigned to the incinerator trash where he belongs.  I’m being injected with a blue dye again so Smurf SWMBO has been resurrected and I shall be peeing blue for a couple of days.
I have no qualms whatsoever about the surgery and the women I have spoken to have been more than wonderful. I spoke to another yesterday who had her surgery 11 years ago and is in her 80s now. Getting first hand knowledge is better than any books and I can ask questions, however trivial, and know I will get an honest response, not a textbook script.

My first MIL had a mastectomy in 1976. I remember seeing her falsie on the kitchen table and it was like a teardrop shaped chicken fillet. She never wore it, even if she went out, and never spoke of her operation. In the following March, she had a hysterectomy and two weeks after our marriage in July, we were told her cancer was terminal. She died in November 1978. So much has changed since then, in treatments, attitudes and research.

I’m sleeping OK, though the reflux got me last night as I’d pigged out big time on all the bad stuff simply because it was in the house and Hubby was out. The scales stuttered this morning as a result.
During my waking hours though my mind is working on the day to day mundane routines like showers/washing, washing my hair, and getting dressed. Hubby can help me with that, though a shower will be out as I have to keep the dressing dry and getting in and out of a bath could be an issue the first week. All over flannel washes sound fun though, and I’ll also need help brushing my hair so Hubby is looking forward to that. I just hope he doesn’t tie my glasses to it like he did before!
I’ve already practiced putting my tee shirt on without raising my arm above my head, and that’s quite easy as they’re really baggy. I’ve refreshed my memory with the exercises and putting on my bra can be included as one is putting my arms behind my back, though doing the damn thing up might prove interesting if I can’t grip tightly enough to hook up.
The softie fits inside, so I won’t need to buy a special bra and if it keeps riding up, we can either put in a little pocket or use velcro. Visions of a falsie flying out whilst I’m playing darts and hitting the board first had me in a fit of giggles.
The false breasts my lovely ladies have shown me are nothing like what my MIL had, but soft flexible silicone breast shapes that fit inside the bra and stay in place with no problem at all.

It’s silly little things that keep creeping into my mind though, the sort of stuff I currently take for granted and I’m racking my brain how I managed last time, though don’t remember any problems at all, AND we were on the boat. I slept on my left side but I only had a dressing, no drain, the wound being only a couple of inches long and actually mostly under my arm. Cooking dinner, lifting pots, washing up, drying dishes, going for walks, shopping, driving, tying my shoes, and how quickly I may tire are all unknowns and will remain so until after my op.
I should be able to play the piano OK when we get back though!

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