Today was my first day at outpatient. I cried more than I would've liked. My boob is still flushed and infected and painful and plugged. I used to pump 5-6 1/2 oz outta Righty and now I'm struggling to get 3 oz.
At outpatient we went to the botanical gardens on the "Wednesday Outing" today and I was so weak and tired I only made it to the first rock garden. I hadn't been able to pump and eat my lunch during the allotted time so I plunked down in the shade and ate my lunch and watched a svelte slug chug up the side of a rock face. I felt defeated, hopeless, weary. I wasn't interested in trying anymore. I didn't see any light at the end of the tunnel.
Now, after doing a compress on Righty, talking with my uncle on the phone, taking a hot bath with a luscious shea bath bomb, talking to Mom on the phone and finding out she and Dad can help out with childcare (it was actually a very good phone call where I felt like I had the stage and got to share my feelings and BONUS we get reinforcements!) and then icing Righty and checking in with my blogosphere... now I'm feeling a little hope. Not quite a light at the end of the tunnel but maybe a flickering, half-obscured, murky glow. Seems to take a lot more to squeeze out a bit of hope than it used to, maybe that's just how bad today was.
Three steps back, half-a-step forward.
Back at it tomorrow, doin' the sluggo shuffle.