I met with the handsome young well-known plastic surgeon from Miami who examined me as a favor to a friend of a friend … and all he had to do was look to tell me they were all wrong. The first words out of his mouth were “it’s all got to come out and be re-done”, which broke my heart. But the next words out of his mouth were like angel singing in a chorus: “No wonder you’re in pain – your pec muscle is stretched to tight and it’s connection to the 3;ekls;kfo muscle (sorry, I wasn’t paying THAT great attention) is pulling on your back.” No psychiatrists. No anxiety tests or increase of SSRIs. A logical, clear, concise explanation of my pain and suffering – not only did he believe me, he expected that I’d be in pain. It was a bittersweet visit, but he has a colleague in Reston who he recommends as his “clone”.
Funniest thing, though… my PS, Dr. N, was his attending in med school. Hilarious.
So, we start over. Like Sisyphus forever rolling the rock up the hill only for it to roll back down again, onward I climb. This time, tissue expanders, fills, the whole works. But, he thinks once all the scar tissue comes out and my skin isn’t stretched so tight, a lot of my discomfort will be alleviated. That is music to my ears, and so I grab my hiking boots and prepare to fight another battle with health insurance and work and disability and everything else…. again.
Here’s how positive I want to feel:
But here’s what’s going on in my head:
…. and I’m still getting stronger. My soul will be iron-clad when all of this is finished.