Surgery was a NO-GO

I even FAILED at surgery. This morning at 5:30 am I went to the hospital, not only mentally prepared, but physcially prepared as well. I had been having trouble when I was doing my hair/washing my hair, and was having a really sharp shooting pain in my chest, but I brushed it off. The original suture under my nipple was still looking infected even though I was cleaning it up to three times a day, and putting medicine on it like there was no tomorrow, yet it just seemed to get worse. At each appointment they would ask me if I was taking care of it, and doing what they told me, and I continued to tell them "yes, I'm being responsible but it just won't get better." They switched my medications as recently as last week to try and heal it, and it was still oozing blood, puss, and other unrecognizable liquids. It was nasty (there is a photo at the end of this post when it looked BEST, so you can only imagine how disgusting it looks 3 weeks later). This is on top of the rashes I got from someone using latex gloves (I'm allergic to latex), and the allergy I developed to bandaids. Yes, I'm allergic to something in bandaids now as well.

When I arrived this morning, the first thing I told the nurse was that I didn't feel good, and I think my wound was still infected. She asked me when the sutures were put in and I told her December 8th, almost exactly 1 month ago. She looked at it and said, "yes that looks infected." she squeezed it (yeah a woman squeezed my boob this morning, no it wasn't awkward), and it started to drain. Then she took my temperature (it was 100.3) and blood pressure (I forget what it was, but rest assured it was awesome). Then she told me she was going to get one of my doctors. When the doctor comes in, I show her my boob and she looks at me and says "we can't operate if it's infected". Now I may not have an MD, but I know what an infected suture looks like, and I had one. That's when I started to cry, but just a little bit.

I gathered my composure and told her how badly it was still hurting, and I didn't know what else to do. She got some sort of magnifying tool, and got really close and took a good look at it and gasped. The doctor looks at me and says, "did we not take out all your sutures?". Again, I don't have my MD, so how the heck am I supposed to know if you took out all the stitches?! You told me 2 weeks ago they were gone, so I'm assuming yes.

She takes another long look, (now there are 2 nurses, a tech, and the doctor staring at me on the bed topless) and says, "there is still a suture in here." That's when I started to bawl. These past few weeks when I had been told I was doing things wrong and not taking care of myself, it truly wasn't anything I had done. My doctor then takes some forceps and takes not ONE, not TWO, but THREE sutures that had been sitting in my breast getting infected for the past month. I couldn't stop crying. They told me I would have to reschedule my surgery, be on antibiotics for the next week and put me on an entirely new medicine for my wound. Oh and they swabbed it because she said it looked like it could have staph infection and they would let me know when the lab results came back. Then they cleaned it, put medication on it and put so much gauze over it (it was bleeding profusely) that one boob actually looks big (i.e normal). Also, I am strictly prohibited from wearing a bra until after surgery (this is irritating for many reasons).

I sat and cried for a good 20 minutes, called my mom, cried some more, and then put on my big girl panties (without a bra of course) and came back to work. Needless to say I am not a happy camper today.

Here I am around 6 am waiting in my gown.

This is closer to 7 when I'm really bored, and no one has told me anything yet.


This is in my car on the way to work after my meltdown. Don't I look happy?!




My wound a few weeks ago. This actually looks really good compared to what it looks like now.
It's hard to tell, but it's a little bigger than a dime, and those spots around it are from my allergic reaction to the bandaid.