My Trip Down the Cancer Wormhole - Part 5

It’s been a while since I updated my blog. Sorry, I’ve been a little busy.

Still surgery day. I’m done with all the pre-cutting fun and return to the husband so we can go back to the private pre-torture room. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Finally Dr. P. shows up. Then the anasteshiologist (whatever). It’s the guy that puts you to sleep. You know who I’m talking about. We chat, I kiss the husband, and I’m wheeled off to the operating room. Kinda weird, they had me get off the bed at the door and walk in to the OR. But it kinda makes sense. I’ve been sitting/laying for a while. This gets the blood circulating. Probably two seconds after laying down, it’s lights out.

I’m just going to speculate about what happens while I’m under anasteshia (I know..get over it). I’m sure someone (hopefully the surgeon) inevitably says, “Scalpel” and away we go. I wonder if anybody comments on the size and density of my floppy 49 year old boobs. If I was awake, I'm sure I'd tell them, "Hey, these are Neiman Marcus boobs!" Do they talk about the weather…a recent bad date…the bottle of wine that was consumed at dinner last night.  I wonder if they listen to music. Rock…Country…?  Maybe Brian Adams, “Cuts Like a Knife”..?? LOL. Sorry, can’t help myself.

Next thing I know, I’m waking up gasping for breath. And I mean I can’t breathe. I pull the oxygen mask off my face, someone puts it back on. I pull it off again. Someone says, “I can’t breathe with this thing on my face.” It might have been me. After several fights over the oxygen mask, I win. That’s a relative term since, uh, duh, it’s oxygen. Meant to help me breath. But I’m not in my right mind, again. I don’t hear anybody speaking Mandarin Chinese this time though.  I finally open my eyes. Just enough to see the recovery nurse standing over me. She says, “Welcome back. You gave me a run for my money.” I said, “Oh?” She proceeds to tell me that I’ve had two breathing treatments and a couple of shots. “I used skills I haven’t had to use in a long time,” she says. Well, at least I’m getting my money’s worth. I’m starting to breathe a little better. Enough that I get to sit up and look around. The man in the bed next to me keeps trying to get up and go home. The nurse has to keep pushing him back down. I find it comical. I don’t know why.

Finally, I’m wheeled back to the private pre-torture room. The husband and a BFF come in or they’re already there. I don’t remember. Still in a fog.  They were told they could see me in an hour. And it’s been two hours. The husband thought maybe they wheeled me to the curb without telling him, and I’ve been sitting outside waiting for him for 60 minutes. That would have been a hoot.  I’m told that Dr. P. told the husband the lump of lotion was larger than he expected. That’s not good. But he thinks he got it all. That’s good. He also said that the lymph node was negative for cancer. That is good. So very good.  The husband and I had a discussion prior to surgery that if Dr. P. came out of the operating room during surgery with news that it wasn’t good, he would be instructed to just take the boob. I’m glad it didn’t come to that, but if it had, I can live without a boob. I have two more anyway (snicker). Inside joke.

We get after surgery instructions to remove the bandages and shower tomorrow.  We both wonder how that’s possible, but okay. Whatever they say. Take the pain medication before you need it (that’s very good advice). I’m told I have a “spacer” in my boob with a plastic tube sticking out in the cavernous area between the girls. It’s not for draining. There is no drain.  I know I heard them say I could shower. I ask, “Are you sure it’s okay to shower?” Yes, they’re sure. They give me this plastic breathing device. Use it 5 or 6 times an hour to prevent pneumonia. Great, something else I have to think about. I get dressed, and someone wheels me out to the curb. The husband brings the car, and we head for home. I’m not in much pain at the moment. Just still very groggy. I don’t recall much except getting home and passing out on the bed. Later, another BFF comes over to check on me, and brings food for the family. My family and friends are the best. I’ll say that again and again before this is all over.  I don’t remember if I tried to eat soup that night. I do remember praying to the porcelain god a couple of times. It’s all a blur. Sorta like a hangover, just without all the fun. Although I can’t be positive, I’m pretty sure there aren’t any secret photos that need to be destroyed before they get into the wrong hands.

As instructed, we remove the bandages the day after surgery. OMG. I look like the bride of Frankenstein. Nine staples and several sutures across the boob. Eight staples and several sutures under the arm pit. The incisions are long…barbaric looking. This is 2011, right? You’d think technique would be a little better at this stage of the game. Although I’m very shaky, the shower feels good. It’s great to wash off the hospital smell and put on clean jammies. Back to bed. Sleep. Watch television. It’s true….daytime television is so boring.