The nurse pulled apart the Velcro holding my pink tube-top in place. Dr. L had come to check my incisions before releasing me from the hospital that morning. It was the day after my double lumpectomy and I wanted nothing more than to go home and begin my recovery in my own bed at home.
"Oh wow," the nurse commented, obviously quite satisfied with what she discovered. "Those incisions look amazing! He did a marvelous job!" That's great, I thought to myself. When I'm not in so much pain I might appreciate that sentiment. (Note here ... I never did quite agree with the nurse on this matter. More on that topic later.)
Tammie had stopped by, as promised. She gave me words of encouragement and reminded me to give her a call if I needed anything at all. Craig had, meanwhile, gone to fill the prescription for my pain medication (generic Vicodin pills) that I'd need once released from the hospital and off the morphine drip. I asked someone (to this day I can't recall whom) to take a picture of me as I was preparing to get into the wheelchair. (Pictures are my way of keeping memories. The mind may fade one day, but photos will last forever. That is, of course, if printed on acid-free paper, saved to gold CDs or multiple other external media sources.)
Hospital policy required patients to be wheeled downstairs in a wheelchair - no walking oneself to the door - as they were discharged from the hospital. Craig brought my car around to the loading zone. Getting in the car was incredibly painful and I winced with every movement. As a law-abiding citizen, the seat-belt presented a dilemma for me. California state law required the use of seat-belts and safety always comes first; yet, there was no way in hell I could let the seat-belt lay across my recently cut-open chest. I opted to buckle the belt, but held the chest strap away from my protective pink tube-top the entire 20 minute drive home. I was miserable, for then my chest and arm hurt!
Once I was in bed and had taken two pain-pills, I turned on the television. And that's where I was when I learned that Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, had died in an apparent drug overdose. I flipped through station after station after station and each one reported on this one news story. Shocking, of course, is the death of any celebrity, and this death, (though not completely unimaginable and unforeseeable), was seriously upsetting to the American news media. Admittedly, I was interested in hearing the details along with everyone else. Despite the controversies surrounding his personal life and interests, Thriller, Billie Jean, We Are The World, Beat It, Black and White, and the like, were songs with lyrics all members of GenX knew by heart. I watched the reports for hours until I finally slept. I awoke and the news stations hadn't yet changed to coverage of any other story, nor would they for days to follow. June 25th isn't in my memory bank as the day I got home from double lumpectomy surgery. Rather, for me, it's banked as the day Americans and music lovers around the world, lost an icon.
*****
WARNING - THERE ARE A COUPLE GRAPHIC PHOTOS BELOW THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR ALL VIEWERS.
(And no, I'm not referring to the ones of me in the hospital bed. Though, those are scary in their own way.)
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| Shortly prior to being released from the hospital. |
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| The only reason I could have possibly been smiling was because the morphine must not yet have worn off. |
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| Right side lumpectomy incision. |
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| Left side lumpectomy incision. See the adhesive keeping me together? I called it saran wrap. |
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