Cancer Lesson #29: Feeling Drained
I was discharged from the hospital with a stunning new stomach scar – a good twelve inches long – and a belly button that had been relocated several inches above its previous position. It now looked like a bull’s-eye, surrounded by a circular scar.
The Engineer insisted the surgeons had created a new one, but I knew they hadn’t. That navel was the one I’d been gazing at all my life, a fact later confirmed by Dr. K2’s most senior intern.
Of course, I also had several smaller scars on my breast, and four tiny incisions for the tubes which led to the drains hanging from my stomach truss.
The Engineer and I were taught how to drain these receptacles several times a day, carefully measuring the liquid before dumping it in the toilet. This also involved – for lack of a better word – milking the tube to rid it of any icky bits that might cause blockage.
“You look like a suicide bomber,” said my ever-supportive husband.
Yes, dear reader, the plastic drains looked like grenades.
I viewed them differently. To me, they resembled an udder dangling between my Velcro Granny bra and matching support Granny panties. No wonder I felt like a cow — simply bovine, my darlings, simply bovine.
But I was going home.