Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Sympathetic response?


    I saw “The Wolverine” the week before last, a movie I’ll never forget. And I can say with a fair degree of assurance that my singular viewing experience does not match up with that of any of the gazillion others who have seen this movie.
     The film wastes no time launching our mutant hero on his journey. A few minutes in, he lunges his gigantic metal talons into rowdy hunters. Not long after, his comeuppance comes via blades and arrows. With the first major attack on our hero, I felt a sensation of warmth on my side, then running down my back. Was I so engaged in this story that I empathized to this degree? Hugh Jackman’s blood filled the screen, and my body responded.  (After a mastectomy, you have absent nerves that still give off sensations. Sometimes when I drink water, it feels to be running down my side.)
     In the theatre, I put my hand under my arm and ran my fingers down my shirt. My fingers were sticky and soaked. It was too dark to tell with what, but it didn’t take long to realize the site of my drain that had been removed three days prior had chosen this movie moment to spring open. 
    Let’s just say I missed about 30 minutes of the film. I’ll admit “The Wolverine” is not my kind of movie anyway. I only went to stay abreast (no pun intended) of what the mainstream masses are drawn to. Movies, walks, reading, music are part of moving beyond my story, which I’ve been relishing the past couple of weeks. I’ve been doing anything but think about what I’ve gone through on my medical journey. Apparently, though, my body is saying this story’s not over yet. 

    Two days ago, a week and a half after “The Wolverine”, I arrived at the plastic surgeon’s office for my weekly fill, anticipating another 50 cc of saline to be added to my muscle expander. I sat down in the waiting room and felt wet under my arm. It was a hot day and I was perspiring more than usual. In the examining room, it became clear it wasn’t sweat. The timing was good, and the doctor massaged the area to remove the excess fluid. “Wow, there’s a lot,” he said, as I gushed like a little spring. The nurse brought a vessel to catch the fluid.    
   I talked to a couple friends about these experiences. My niece Lisa, a nursing mother, said it’s not a stretch that my body would give a sympathetic response to what was happening on the movie screen. After all breast milk and lymphatic fluid are interconnected. This would be like a nursing mother doing errands away from her child and her body responds with flowing milk to another baby’s cries. I’m not sure if there’s medical proof of this or not, but it makes sense.
    My friend Signe simply said, “We women are used to gushing -- tears, menstrual cycles, breast milk. This all seems natural.”
    I like getting these feminine perspectives. As far as how I’m feeling, I’m not that uncomfortable. Or worried. I’m just hoping the weeping stops soon. I’m hoping for one more connection to “The Wolverine,” the part where his wounds seal shut for good.