Pump Up The Volume!

Here we go, c'mon

do it 

do it

do it

pump up the volume

pump up the volume

pump up the volume

dance

dance

Recently, I read an article that discussed intriguing scientific evidence: listening to music improves your blood oxygen capacity and is a performance enhancement. After watching Olympian swimmer, Michael Phelps, with his medal winning, world record setting, performances at Beijing and London -- I'm definitely a believer. 

Then it occurred to me that perhaps music is the performance booster that I need, not to set the world record in the 100m butterfly, but, to handle the 100cc's of saline injected into my breast every week. I'm not generally a fan of late 80's house music...but, without a doubt, my motivational song would have to be Pump Up The Volume by M/A/R/R/S.

While under the knife, my plastic surgeon positioned a tissue expander beneath the muscles of my chest wall. The purpose of the expander is to stretch the breast skin and chest wall muscles in order to make room for the permanent breast implant. 

Most days, I think the purpose of the expander is to make you feel like you have a turtle hibernating in your chest (well, my daughter always wanted one for a pet...but instead of the usual tank aquarium that most pet owners would purchase for its home, ours is residing under my reconstructed breast). Anyway, the incision from my mastectomy has healed and it's now time to pump that bad boy up. So every week, I go to see Laura, the nurse at Johns Hopkins Breast Center, to have a large syringe filled with salt water injected into my turtle shell, I mean, tissue expander until we get to the desired cup size...or until the skin looks like it's being "compromised" (i.e. like it's going to pop) -- whichever one comes first.

put the needle on the record (oops, I mean 'in the expander')

put the needle in the expander

put the needle in the expander

put the needle in the expander

put the needle in the expander

when the song beats goes like this 

pump up the volume

pump up the volume 

breathe breathe

 

Let me tell you, as alluring as this whole process may sound -- I mean, what's not appealing about having your breasts uplifted? -- it's painful. I'm talking muscle relaxers and narcotics needed to relieve the pain kind of painful. My niece said to me when I was first diagnosed, "Boobs are such an annoying part of the body anyway." You're not kidding. Even more annoying than the usual pre-mastectomy breast inconveniences, such as trying to keep those unsightly bra straps tucked inconspicuously inside of your sleeveless dress, is the removal and then reconstruction of them. Phew, the things that I'm willing to go through in order to salvage next year's swimsuit season.

 While I was lying down after the first expansion visit and the second round of pain meds were finally kicking in, I cursed myself for not giving further consideration to the prosthetic breast forms -- just pop them into your post-mastectomy pocket bra and go. Although, that option would not work for this beach-loving gal. I can see the scene now: I'm leaving the beach with my three kids and instead of the usual flip flop or broken clam shell falling victim to the sand, something of greater importance dropping...my boob. Then, the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching with the person shouting, "Excuse me, Ma'am. Wait!" I turn to see what the ruckus is all about when I notice the man approaching me. His face reddens from embarrassment as he extends his hand out to reveal the silicone breast form, "Um, you dropped this." Yikes -- no thank you. I'll stick to the permanent solution. So bring on the muscle relaxers and crank up the music...

pump up the volume

pump up the volume

brothers and sisters

pump that baby