cancer for our own selfish needs. They are the sweetest animals though. We love our rats so much that they stay in the family room with their cage right behind the sofa where they can see and be part of everything going on. They frequently scamper around on the sofa with us, using our legs for ramps to the coffee table or the love seat next to it. When we let them out, before exploring, they always come to us first to say hello, licking ourear lobes like dogs with their tiny tongues, or tickling our cheeks with their long whiskers. They often snuggle under our arms or sit on our laps and groom themselves.
There are other things about home: the convenience store clerk with short black hair who always has a kind word; the mom-and-pop neighborhood hardware store run by the oldest people I know, which holds its own against the big retail chains only because those old-timers can tell you how to fix anything. Not to mention my favorite ice cream shop, Chinese restaurant, gas station, and movie theater. Just knowing where everything is and the quickest routes to get there, knowing all the speed limits, where all the speed bumps and school zones are, and what traffic is like at different times of the day. My favorite thing is to be with my family inside my home or be tinkering on a project in the garage. I'm not much of a yardman, much to Beth's chagrin. All these things make my home what it is. I was so happy to be back to enjoy it.
When I came home, no one pampered me or treated me like an invalid; they just treated me like me, which was exactly what I needed—I was eager to resume a normal life. I got around pretty well but had lost a lot of strength. At night I slept all right but could only sleep on my back to protect the staples on my belly. I couldn't imagine what they looked like, and I hadn't gotten up the nerve to look.
After several days my incision started to ache, and it was time to remove the bandage that had been on my belly since my surgery. I gently peeled the tape off around it, leaving a rectangle of glue. For the first time, I saw the zipper on my belly, all twelve inches of it. It wasn't a very pretty sight. It was ragged, red, and angry looking. Each staple had red halos around the punctures in my skin. It was clear that I needed to address it. I'd taken showers in the hospital a few times by wrappingmyself in plastic wrap to protect my bandages, IVs, and PICC, but this was the first time I would shower without protection. Running the warm water over the long cut and staples was soothing. I patted it with a soapy sponge to clean it the best I could. That really helped the irritation. I soon became an expert at rebandaging myself, and I stayed on top of the health of my incision.
I couldn't wear my old clothes yet, partly because I was so thin that half of them would have just fallen off anyway, but mostly because a lot of my incision was below the beltline. It was just too uncomfortable and probably unsafe to wear regular pants. I had to come up with a way to protect it. First I had Beth find me some black pants that were like pajamas. When that wasn't enough, it was time for some engineering. To keep anything from touching my incision, I put two pairs of socks inside the elastic waistband of my new pants to keep them off my incision—one on each side. Jokingly I called them my six-shooters.
Chapter 6
BAD SLEEP
After only a week, I was feeling stellar. On May 4, my surgeon, Dr. Demarco, gave me his stamp of approval to return to work. I was on short-term leave, but with four job losses in five years due to three layoffs and a company going out of business, I didn't want to give any reason for my new employer to let me go. On May 9, I returned to work. At first everyone was excited to see me and had many questions, but things quickly settled into familiar routines.
Apparently no one noticed my odd pants or the telltale lumps from my six-shooters. What they particularly noticed was my weight loss. I
There are other things about home: the convenience store clerk with short black hair who always has a kind word; the mom-and-pop neighborhood hardware store run by the oldest people I know, which holds its own against the big retail chains only because those old-timers can tell you how to fix anything. Not to mention my favorite ice cream shop, Chinese restaurant, gas station, and movie theater. Just knowing where everything is and the quickest routes to get there, knowing all the speed limits, where all the speed bumps and school zones are, and what traffic is like at different times of the day. My favorite thing is to be with my family inside my home or be tinkering on a project in the garage. I'm not much of a yardman, much to Beth's chagrin. All these things make my home what it is. I was so happy to be back to enjoy it.
When I came home, no one pampered me or treated me like an invalid; they just treated me like me, which was exactly what I needed—I was eager to resume a normal life. I got around pretty well but had lost a lot of strength. At night I slept all right but could only sleep on my back to protect the staples on my belly. I couldn't imagine what they looked like, and I hadn't gotten up the nerve to look.
After several days my incision started to ache, and it was time to remove the bandage that had been on my belly since my surgery. I gently peeled the tape off around it, leaving a rectangle of glue. For the first time, I saw the zipper on my belly, all twelve inches of it. It wasn't a very pretty sight. It was ragged, red, and angry looking. Each staple had red halos around the punctures in my skin. It was clear that I needed to address it. I'd taken showers in the hospital a few times by wrappingmyself in plastic wrap to protect my bandages, IVs, and PICC, but this was the first time I would shower without protection. Running the warm water over the long cut and staples was soothing. I patted it with a soapy sponge to clean it the best I could. That really helped the irritation. I soon became an expert at rebandaging myself, and I stayed on top of the health of my incision.
I couldn't wear my old clothes yet, partly because I was so thin that half of them would have just fallen off anyway, but mostly because a lot of my incision was below the beltline. It was just too uncomfortable and probably unsafe to wear regular pants. I had to come up with a way to protect it. First I had Beth find me some black pants that were like pajamas. When that wasn't enough, it was time for some engineering. To keep anything from touching my incision, I put two pairs of socks inside the elastic waistband of my new pants to keep them off my incision—one on each side. Jokingly I called them my six-shooters.
Chapter 6
BAD SLEEP
After only a week, I was feeling stellar. On May 4, my surgeon, Dr. Demarco, gave me his stamp of approval to return to work. I was on short-term leave, but with four job losses in five years due to three layoffs and a company going out of business, I didn't want to give any reason for my new employer to let me go. On May 9, I returned to work. At first everyone was excited to see me and had many questions, but things quickly settled into familiar routines.
Apparently no one noticed my odd pants or the telltale lumps from my six-shooters. What they particularly noticed was my weight loss. I
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