The bubbles

Oh the bubbles! So, after a mastectomy with reconstruction I had four surgical drains that helped remove extra fluid build-up from underneath my tissue expanders. These things freaked me out COMPLETELY! So, I called them my bubbles. I don’t know if it was the drugs talking, ‘cause I was on A LOT of them or if I simply could not remember what the hell these things were actually called, but calling these annoying things bubbles put a smile on my face.

The bubbles were not only annoying, but they were awkward, uncomfortable, and above all super gross. I mean having these clear tubes dangling out of my body with sacs (gross word...hence, bubbles) at the end so yuckiness could get sucked out was just way too much for me to process. To make matters worse, we were instructed to MEASURE THE YUCKINESS IN THE BUBBLE! OH.MY.LANDS. Thankfully, my spouse and mom went into some science experiment/nurse mode and took control.

What was most annoying about them (the bubbles, not my spouse or mom…) was what to do with them. It was like I went from 2 boobs to no boobs to then 2 different boobs plus 4 extra boobs that hung way too low for my liking! All joking aside, the 4 bubbles were pretty small, each about the size of a small apple and made of a soft, pliable plastic material, but you can’t just let them hang freely; like boobs, you have to support them. Initially I safety pinned them to the inside of my shirts. Then I discovered removable pockets, and they were awesome. I taped them to the inside of my shirts, and plopped 2 bubbles in each pocket. This stretch of the road was far from pleasant, but “bubbles” are my reminder that it’s the little things.

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