The question you won't ask (and other stuff)

A few brave souls have ventured to go there, at the risk of sounding tacky, but I imagine at least most of you are curious to know: how does it look?

When I was in recovery, the very first thing I remember is a nurse telling me Wu did a brilliant job, and my breasts look amazing. I would have thought she was trying to help, but her tone was kind of awed as she spoke, as if this was a particular work of art. Honestly, that's continued to be the theme during the course of my stay. This has never been an area of my body worthy of complimenting before, but now that I have gotten past the obvious issues and can look at the shape ... wow! They're nice. The question is, how much is swelling, and how much will stay. Is it possible you'll be seeing a debut of low-cut tops this summer for the first time in my life? Heck, if I have something to show off, I've now earned the right. And I would owe it to Dr. Wu, don't you think?

Would you like to read about my hospital stay? I guess it's like any other hospital stay (umm, not so pleasant). I fought the urge to flee on Wednesday morning, and as I was trailed by Ken and both of my parents, and Jill, I probably wouldn't have made it far. But I cried as I made the transition to patient. It's a tough transition, putting on that gown and that silly hat and those paper shoe things when you feel great. Once again, they had trouble with the IV stick, messing up my right hand. They got it into my left hand, but later it infiltrated and it had to go back to my right. So the IV was the literal thorn in my hand for the past five days. I spent so much time worrying about moving the wrong way and ruining it.

In recovery, I drifted in and out of consciousness to the steady background hum of CNN. The nurses weren't paying attention, so I carefully provided updates for them, which they didn't believe. "Really, Obama took the oath again tonight," I insisted. "Only a crazy mother would make sure her dead daughter had her favorite blanky before stuffing her in trashbags." Okay, I probably wasn't quite that lucid.

Believe it or not, there was no transport available. Every 15 minutes or so I'd be told I was moving to my room, and then I would lie there, knowing my family waited to see me looking god-awful but alive. It took 3 hours to get me up there, and then I don't remember too much. My mom stayed the night, and she was a huge help. She swabbed my mouth with ice when I couldn't take the dryness. I couldn't talk until someone swabbed my mouth. That was the worst thing at the beginning.

Friday was the worst. I was allowed to eat, but too nauseous to do it. I had to get up, but it was excruciating. Everything was horrible and wrong. Wu came in looking like a Barbie doll with her swinging waves and the best boots I have ever seen, and said I'd feel much better the next day. I didn't give her the finger because my breasts are now shaped nice. But she was right, as you know, because on Saturday I stopped staring longingly at the computer in the corner and started to use it.

I'm ready to go home. Last night I yelled at Allison about incompleted homework, and I want to watch the shows I have on dvr. My lungs are still way, way off from normal, so the phone is not easy. Walking once around the hallway here feels exactly like a 3-mile run felt during the summer. But you know where to find me online, and I love hearing from you.

Thank you, thank you, so much for helping to take care of Ken and the kids. Ken is tired, but he's handling it all without going crazy, and I know that's because my friends' and family's unending generosity and love.

Love,
Michelle