03/30/2026
The Recliner of Dubious Moral Assembly continues to be one of the best investments of my life.
Cozy, soft, oversized, with heated seat options, massage (vibration), side pockets and a USB port. I am in love...
The biggest aspect of this recovery at the moment, is that the DIEP flap means they filleted off the bottom third of my abdominal skin and tissue to make new breasts.
For those of you old enough to remember them, this is a little like the window shades from the 80s and 90s that pulled down and then when you tugged them the right way (in my case, on attempt #4 or 5 and after a few swear words) they recoiled back to the top of the window.
Imagine one of those shades, but it's too short for the window by about four inches.
Voila.
I present to you the state of my abdomen.
After removing that tissue, the surgeons took my remaining abdominal tissue and streeeeeettttched it down, and then sewed it in place with an incision that goes from one hip to the other. So I can't stand up straight or lie down flat. Lifting or overexertion risk ripping the stitches and opening the flap incision. Standing and walking pull on my abdomen and I have to walk with my knees bent and sometimes on my tiptoes.
Over the course of months, I am told, the fascia and skin will relax and stretch. But at the moment, I am doing an excellent impression of the witch from Snow White - except with a walker and a sunnier disposition. (Ish)
The recliner, combined with a wedge under my knees, lets me rest in a comfortable position - essentially shaped like a tightly coiled NASA astronaut, cozy in the rocket.
Perhaps the only ones happier with the recliner are the farm cats. Once in it, I am covered with an electric throw and they all climb on top of me to form a Farm Cat Therapeutic Weighted Blanket.
Their one complaint - and a problem I have yet to find a solution for - is what I believe they refer to among themselves as my "drinking problem."
I'm taking a lot of prescription medication, so I'm drinking a lot of fluids to try to support my liver and kidneys, which means needing to p*e frequently. That requires returning the chair to its upright position to get up.
After a decade and a half of firm, steady, good Protestant furniture that remains in place when I arise, the frequency with which they now awaken sliding down the leg rest in a slow-motion avalanche of electric blankets must be disorienting.
They have taken to sleeping on the leg rest in preparation for this inevitable tectonic collapse. Molly hooks one or both paws over the corner of the wedge, holding on, and Thomas sleeps with arms outstretched and claws sunk in as if he is already falling.
Molly tried something different yesterday and slept on the headrest above me. At one point I felt a strange *THUNK* as she slid down the headrest and landed on the back of my neck, belly up, like a scarf, and resumed sleeping.
Bless this feline recliner mess...
