My Old Friend, Drain.

Welcome back, Drain. I wish I could say that I’ve missed you, but alas, I have not. At least this time, only Right Drain came for a visit. Left Drain, feeling unneeded, stayed home.

The Drains and I first met in December of 2009, where they stayed around for a few weeks after my double mastectomy. Chock-full of fun, these guys hang around with the help of some stitches in my incisions and pump appetizing fluid out of my body and into a plastic ball that looks a lot like a grenade. I do feel like hurling it sometimes so maybe a grenade isn’t a bad analogy. The Drains, during their visit, never left my sides. Saying adios to the Drains was a big day for me back in 2009.

After my festive surgery this past July 4th, the post-op nurse reintroduced me to Right Drain. Thank you, Sir Post-Op, for the intro, but Drain and I are old friends. Drain was already securely attached to what would soon be Scar #112, and doing his groove thang. He was glad to see me, I think. I sighed and said, Hey Drain.

Drain and I have a system. I tape him to my side in a few places to keep him from too much sightseeing, wrap the extra length in a coil and pop the coil and grenade into a deep pants pocket. Then I sport a t-shirt that is long enough to cover up the pocket. People don’t like to see bloody tubes, I am guessing, so I do my best to hide my friend, Drain.

(Not planning on seeing Drain this visit, I only brought two pieces with big pockets: a pair of army green shorts and a pair of black Lucy spa pants. Please remember this if you see photos of me from this vacation and wonder why I never changed clothes.)

Twice a day I empty grenade into the sink, after measuring what Drain is kindly whisking away from my body. Sorry for the imagery, but this no longer registers anywhere near gross on my personal scale.

The largest problem with Drain is that he really can’t be without a resting spot. He is lazy. So when I use the facilities, for example, I have to remember to remove grenade from my pocket. Drain cannot hang without causing me severe discomfort. And I try to stay clear of avoidable severe discomfort at all costs. When I change clothes, I do so one-handed so Drain is acceptably accommodated. When I bathe, Drain perches on the side of the tub, monitoring water levels. Right now, as I type this on the drive back to Phoenix, Drain is exposed at the end of my t-shirt with Grenade chilling on my lap, basking in the air conditioned splendor of the 4 Runner.

Drain had quite a trip – he saw Legoland, Ocean beach, the funky, cool restaurant at the Pearl, we slept in the same bed, ate meals together, shared a beer – I actually think Left Drain will be jealous as his visit in 2009 was not this fun at all. And now, adding insult to Left Drain’s injury, I will post a photo of Right Drain, bringing him all the fame and glory that comes with a post to a blog being read by 3 people.

Toodles. John, Xia, Drain and I are going to stop at the DQ for a dipped cone.

Becca

Tags: breast implants, Drain, hematoma, reconstruction