So, while I'm still okay with having done this, I'd be lying to say it was a cake walk. There is pain. Things itch. Range of motion is compromised and my neck is stiff.

I've been snoring because no matter how I prop my head, there is boobage being pushed up toward my throat and thereby occluding my throat a bit. Weird thing that I hadn't even thought of. Makes my throat sore, but once I'm up and moving around and have had something to drink, I feel better.

Okay, the stitches. They itch. So does my skin under the Tegaderm. I can feel the tightness of the stitches in the sub-mammary fold. Unique! I didn't know my tits would be hard as rocks at first, but of course this makes sense. They are not only terrifically swollen, but they are also compressed quite tightly in the surgical bra. My nipples work. This is the primary goal!

Liposuction, as you may know, is a violent process and I'm quite proud that I didn't freak out about it. Seriously, the anesthesia went into my hand, and I never panicked. I did ask the anesthesiologist to intubate me gently, as I am a singer. (Mr. Anesthesiologist, thank you for not taking that request as a slam to your technique. I'm sure you intubate everyone gently.) I am aware of bruising under my arms, where my back fat is (was? we shall see), down my sides and in my upper abdomen.

I continue to do a little lymphatic drainage massage on myself. I'll have three massages in the next week to keep the lymph and other bodily fluids circulating. There is mild edema in both hands, but my goodness, that’s to be expected; the compression bra somewhat prevents free venous return. I do have permission from my doctor to raise my arms above shoulder height, just not to lift anything heavy. This means I can fend for myself in cooking and all that, and also that I can raise my arms to encourage drainage and circulation.

My hair is so greasy - it doesn't even get this funky on camping trips! But I had a bright idea: I'll go to a hair salon and get a shampoo and blow-dry. No hassle, no leaning over my mom’s kitchen sink. I'll have to wear my blue shorts so I don't shuffle out in public in my jammies, but I can't button them. Cover with a big sweatshirt, and voila! Somewhat acceptable public attire.

I'm working on, uh, going potty. Prunes, coffee, fruits, and two stool softeners in the hospital so far have not produced results. I'll give it until this afternoon before resorting to chemicals.

TinyMom™ and I will go visit the kitties today. Between that and getting my hair washed, I think it will be a full day.