I’m over it. Every time I move, something pulls in my chest. I still wouldn’t describe it as pain as much as an annoyance. And quite uncomfortable. I watched an infomercial without the sound on for at least an hour today. I didn’t want to start something actually good, because I was sure I was on the verge of feeling like getting up and doing something. I must have missed my window. The infomercial was selling a copper pan that wasn’t actually copper, and it made me angry. All of their demo recipes used way too much cheese. It didn’t make sense.
I’m leaking a little from my left armpit drain hole. I talked to the nurse, and she didn’t sound concerned. I was extremely unhappy to realize that even though the tube is sewn in, there’s a bit of play where I can pull the tube out slightly or push it back in, likely contaminating my inner armpit with flesh-eating germs.
I have my drain bulbs attached to an elastic belt, like a holster. After learning the hard way that it’s entirely possible to roll on a bulb during the night, causing it to empty into a really gross puddle on the bed, I now keep the bulbs attached more toward the middle rather than my sides. The fluid accumulating in the bulbs started as a cherry Kool-Aid color, and has now lightened up to pink lemonade. Each side drains about a half-cup per day. I measure it and keep a running list of how much is coming out.
Earlier today I was lounging in my recovery lair, aka the guest bedroom with a TV, with a snuggly cat. It took me a while to notice that the kitty was vigorously gnawing on one of the drain tubes. Jesus.