The morning of surgery I was numb.

Not emotionally devastated, not tearful, not having some profound moment of reckoning. Just numb. Going through the motions. Showered, got dressed, got in the car. My surgery wasn’t until 3pm which meant I had a whole morning to sit with it, hungry and waiting, which is its own particular kind of torture. I got through it the same way I get through most things. I just kept moving and didn’t look directly at it.

And then suddenly it was time.

Going under

There is something deeply strange about the moment before general anesthesia. One minute you are there, present, aware, a little terrified. And then you are just gone. No transition, no fade, nothing. Just gone and then waking up somewhere else entirely.

Waking up was not peaceful.

I came to groggy and disoriented in a way I had not anticipated. The anesthesia sits heavy on you. Your brain is trying to come back online and your body is not cooperating. I remember family being there, which I was grateful for, but I also remember not being fully able to process that they were there. Everything was slow and thick and slightly unreal.

And then I tried to move and I couldn’t.

Not in a dramatic, something is wrong kind of way. Just in the way that my upper body was simply not available to me. I could not lift my arms. I could not push myself up. I could not do any of the automatic, unconscious things you do with your body without thinking about it. That was terrifying in a way I was completely unprepared for. I knew intellectually that there would be limitations after surgery. I did not know what it would actually feel like to reach for something and have nothing respond.

My body felt heavy in a way I don’t have a good word for. Not just tired. Heavy. Like gravity had doubled while I was asleep.

The pain was real. I won’t sugarcoat it. The first hours after waking up were hard.

The drains

Nobody prepared me adequately for the drains and I am going to prepare you right now.

After a mastectomy you wake up with surgical drains. These are thin tubes that exit through your skin on your sides and collect fluid from the surgical site in small bulb shaped reservoirs. They are not optional. They are there to prevent fluid buildup while you heal and you will have them for weeks.

I had four.

Four drains, two on each side, sitting against my ribcage. And here is the thing nobody tells you. Because the drains exit on your sides, you cannot rest your arms flat against your body. The moment your arm presses against a drain it pushes on it and that is extremely painful. Which means you are constantly holding your arms slightly away from your sides, like you are perpetually about to do something with your hands, for weeks.

There is no comfortable neutral position. You cannot just let your arms hang. Every time you forget and relax your arms down you are immediately reminded not to do that. It is exhausting in a way that is hard to explain until you are living it.

Emptying the drains is its own experience. You have to do it yourself at home, measuring the output and recording it, because the amount of drainage determines when they get removed. Your surgical team will show you how before you leave the hospital. It is not pleasant but you will get used to it faster than you think.

The drains were the worst part of my early recovery. Not the surgery, not the pain, the drains. If you are going into this surgery know that they are coming and mentally prepare yourself.

The first night

I stayed overnight in the hospital which I was grateful for. Having nurses available through the night, having pain medication managed for me, not having to figure out how to get comfortable in my own bed on night one, all of that was worth it.

I did not sleep well. But I slept.

By the next morning the grogginess had lifted enough that I felt more like myself, or a very tired, very sore, very immobile version of myself. My family was there. I was alive. The surgery was done.

That was enough for day one.

What I wish someone had told me

You will not be able to move your upper body at all when you first wake up and that is normal and temporary. Prepare yourself for that feeling before you go in because it is shocking when it happens.

The anesthesia makes you feel heavier and more out of it than you expect. Give yourself time to come back. Don’t try to rush it.

Four drains means four things pushing against your sides every time you move. Sleep with your mastectomy pillow. Prop your arms on pillows. Find every way you can to keep your arms slightly elevated and away from your sides.

The first day is the hardest. It gets more manageable.