There's a reason I don't go camping: the lack of hot, daily showers. Climbing under the spray, this morning, was like having an extra birthday. I am now the cleanest girl in town.
Given my melodramatic behaviour of earlier in the week, I was nervous about removing the dressing from my incision, this morning. So much so that I didn't get into the shower until 9:30 -- a good couple of hours after I got out of bed. And I didn't begin to peel the sticking plaster until the water was running over the gauze. But the news is all good.
I'm a little bruised and, from what I can see under the railroad ties of the steri-strips (and I'm not all that curious), the incision is about 4" long. But there are no bolts protruding anywhere, no large black stitches evident, and still -- remarkably -- no pain. I've already decided that my witty rejoinder, when asked by future lovers what the scar resulted from, will be 'I cut myself shaving'.
I'll still hafta stay off the breast for another few days, but the healing has begun in earnest.
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