DUCT TAPE

Okay so this is going to be the end of the beginning of a funny story, which really isn’t so funny.  In actuality, if I don’t see the humor in life, I’m a gonner, so lucky for me the humor peeks its head out just when I need it to save me from momentary madness.  It’s a family trait, which comes from my Grandma Nellie, has passed from gene to gene through my mother, her sisters Katie and Annie, and pretty much most of the grandchildren.  We laugh and find humor at the most inappropriate of times…and then we can’t stop laughing. So we’re a little weird, but it gets us through.  Sometimes, it can be quite embarrassing, especially at funerals.

So here goes the end of the beginning of the first part of the story....I don’t read directions. Written directions confuse me and annoy me (which is why I don't shop Ikea).  To top that off, when I’m in a place of frustration, I don’t hear directions either; all I hear is the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher saying "wahah wah wha wah."   http://youtu.be/ss2hULhXf04.  So if I'm receiving both written and verbal directions, that's a problem.  Needless to say, life hasn't been easy for me, and I get lost constantly.  Just let me throw myself into the fire and figure it out; eventually, I will.

Exactly 48 hours ago I had a biopsy.  I know it was 48 hours ago because I would like to take a shower and they said not for 48 hours.  That part, I remember.  In case you’re wondering, or not....I have a breast tumor.  Refer back to “The Mammogram Maze” if you want details. The last two weeks have been hell as my imagination has taken over where the facts have been left out or too unclear for the doctors to share; and then everything they do share is a qualified statement "This is just my opinion, and only my opinion based on the blah blah blah."  I get it. They don't want some crazy version of me calling them in the middle of the night screaming hysterically "You told me....." so everything has to have a disclaimer.  I can be that crazy person, so I respect them for it.  In the meantime, all I really know is that I have a tumor and it is "the opinion" of the radiologist that it is highly possibly malignant.  Please don't freak out, I'll do the freaking out for all seven billion people on the planet over this "tumor" that may be or still may not be malignant.  In the meantime, I have named him “Lil Bastard."  I’ll leave that story along with the angry rap song I wrote called "Lil Bastard" for another blog so as not to confuse myself or you, my friends.

Anyway, 48 hours later – which was like, five minutes ago, I was excited to see the damage, to tear off the bandages, to observe the battle scars of the biopsy, which biopsy I observed every second of on the monitor while they injected the needle and vacuumed out the tumor cells, because I am sick like that.  It was fascinating and masochistic, all at the same time.

I pulled off the bandages.  Yes, bruising, lots of bruising. Niiiiiiccceeee.  Proof that I suffered….a little.  Honestly, it didn’t really hurt at all, it was a piece of cake.  Off came the gauze, then the bandage, then I very slowly pulled the tape…which I learned about two minutes ago, after the fact, that they are called “steri-strips.”  One tape, two, three, then four, all perfectly criss-crossed to hold the itsy bitsy needle hole from opening and possibly infecting.  Done!

Just as I went to turn on the shower this little thought from absolutely no where…like an angel ever so quietly whispering in my ear popped into my head.  “Read the directions."   Directions? Did they give me directions? Reluctantly, I went back into the kitchen, found the file labeled "Miscellaneous" and pulled out a paper entitled "Core Biopsy Aftercare Instructions."  There were a lot of blah blah blahs on the page, until I got to the part that said "...The bra and bandage can be removed on 11-4-11. You may then bathe with the steri-strips on. They may be gently removed 2 days after the pressure dressing is removed.”  Wait, I have to bathe with the steri-strips on??? Oh, I didn't know that.

And so, I slyly look around to make sure no one is watching, because you know, doctors and nurses might be lurking in the corners of my house to make sure I followed the directions…I then tippy toed into the bathroom and shamelessly pulled the rolled up smashed gauze, bandages, and “steri-strips” from the top of the garbage. Ever so slowly I pulled apart the “steri-strips” and attempted to replace them on my boob, all the while realizing that these weren't made to stick twice.  I then used my fingernail as an attempt to scratch them back into sticking in place.  So now, pieces of the tape are half falling off my boob and half sticking on while I contemplate how I am going to shower without wetting the "wound" knowing the tape will fall off.  If only I had read the directions.  But suddenly I have an "ah-ha!" moment.  A moment of genius.

I'm an Alaskan girl and proud of it! In Alaska we learned that duct tape fixes everything from holding a car window in place, to keeping a boyfriend tied up that is trying desperately to flee.  And so, proudly sporting a big ol' piece of duct tape on my biopsy incision to hold those weak little "steri-strips" in place, I am ready to bask in the warmth of a long shower with confidence that the duct tape is reliable and my wound will stay safely intact.

Duct tape my friends, always keep a roll handy....you never know when you're going to need it.

Sweet Dreams and Always, GOOD Dreams,

~Renae~