So about this second surgery, you would think I would be a pro, right? Wrong! This time I was about a bazillion times more nervous than I was during the first go round. I'm guessing it's because this time I wasn't in shock. Looking back at round one I recognize I was in some sort of shock for the first few days. I'm not sure what shock does to, or for a person but I feel like it served as a sort of protective shell for me. This time I was aware of what was happening.
Monday was a long day. After surgery number one I started working on a little family history project which blossomed into a four hundred page recipe/ family history book complete with photos and numerous stories. That book kept my mind completely occupied while I healed. I can't wait 'til my hardbound Mecham Family Cookbooks arrive so I can give one to each of my kids for Christmas. That Monday I sat down to work on the book and Doug went off to work. It's hard for me to avoid being superstitious. I know, it's silly, but I really struggle with that. So on Monday while I worked on this incredible labor of love it occurred to me, "Am I doing this so my kids will have all of these recipes and these stories if I die?" I looked around at the little old house we live in. Last summer I spent every waking moment and many moments when I should have been sleeping, painting our old cabinets, hanging new drapes, I even put in a new floor and kitchen backsplash. "Was that all part of God's way of easing me out of the picture? Take care of everything that needs to be taken care of, and then I'm gone?" As I went through my parents old photos I realized that in the years before my mother died- years preceding the onset of her battle with Alzheimer's disease- my mother had gone through all of her old family photos and written a detailed description on the back of each picture. I was sure she must have been prompted to do this before it became impossible for her to do so. I was equally as certain that my frantic work on this sure to be family heirloom was much like my mother's effort to scribe handwritten details on the backs of the photos of my ancestors. That day was a hard day. Lots of time spent thinking about the "what ifs." Not to mention the worry I had about pain this time up to bat.
When I saw Dr. President on the Friday before the surgery he told me after doing the mastectomy he would do the skin graft on my leg. I was looking forward to having the shark wound patched up. (More about the care of the shark bite later) The only problem is skin grafts hurt like the dickens. Dr. President didn't try to sugar coat it. He said, "It hurts. You'll be okay." I knew he was telling me the truth- it would hurt, but I would be alright. Then he told me what felt like the worst part of this whole ordeal. He said I had to have four shots into the area around my nipple- while I was awake- without any local anesthetic. SAY WHAT? After being admitted and brought to the surgical waiting area, I would be taken to the nuclear medicine department. There a specialist would inject a radioactive dye into that area which would in essence map out the route to my sentinel lymph node. Dr. President took one look at me, tears spilling down my cheeks, and said, "I'm sorry." I felt so bad that he felt bad. Here this wonderful guy has done so much for me, made every effort to ease my burdens and I'm blubbering over four lousy shots. It was pathetic but I just couldn't stop feeling sorry for myself. All I'm thinking at this point is, (and forgive my salty language) my boob is getting cut off tonight and my final memory of the old girl is going to be this. Weird, right? I mean does anyone have a final memory of their boob? Probably not, but at the time I felt very justified in hating the little mound of flesh.
Monday evening came and Doug and I headed off to the hospital. We waited downstairs for Dee and Kristie and then the four of us headed up to the third floor. During my first surgery the waiting room and the holding tank were busy and alive with people. Tonight we had the pace to ourselves. After they suited me up, (again the gown with the paw prints)and got my IV line in an orderly came to take me down to nuclear medicine. My crew followed but once we got down to the department the technician informed us that I had to go it alone. I was scared and a few tears may have slipped from my eyes at that point. Well,I will spare you the details but it is sufficient to say that trip to nuclear medicine went exactly as everything else has gone. Two incredibly kind people, a chatty technician and a gentle doctor, helping me through a rather painful ordeal. I made it back to the surgical waiting area where my posse sat waiting, Dee, Kristie, my old friend Jamie who had arrived while I was gone, and of course, Doug. I impressed upon them to never, no matter what, get a nipple piercing. I hope they took me seriously, but with that crew, you never can tell. Later, Ari and Derek also dropped by and were able to come back to see me in the surgical holding tank.
Next entered my anesthesiologist. Doctor Vollers. I. LOVE. HER. Remember my fist surgery, how I woke up, threw up, felt sick for days? Yes? Well I told Dr. Vollers about all that. She sat with me for maybe twenty minutes and went over what she planned to do to ensure I would not feel that way again. ( I didn't by the way- woke up without any side-effects whatsoever.) Dr. President appeared and talked to all of us for a few minutes. Kristie offered to go suit up, but he assured her he had things under control. We all had a good laugh. Minutes later I was being wheeled back to the O.R.. Dr. Vollers walked along side me. Angel nurses moved me to the operating table effortlessly. Again they stretched my arms out and wrapped me up in warm blankets. Dr. Vollers calmly spoke to me as she started some sort of feel good medicine. Again I searched the room for my hero. There he was- head bowed.
Peacefully I drifted off.
The surgery took some time. Doug had lots of company in the waiting room. Suzie and Brent and a few others had joined those waiting. Later Suzie told me she could see just how nervous Doug was. As the night wore on she said he removed himself from the group. Unlike me, lots of talking does not comfort my husband. He is far more comfortable in quiet places. I know he was grateful, so grateful, for the support though and cherishes our friends for their kindness. Dr. President emerged after surgery to tell them all went well. Everyone who was there said they could see that Dr. President was happy, genuinely happy. I wish I could have been there. I'm envisioning a moment similar to those one Grey's Anatomy:
Doctor emerging from the surgery suite. Those waiting for the news jumping up to meet him. A huge sigh of relief from the Doctor as he takes off his cap. The family and friends burst into happy tears. Roll credits while we hear Meredith's voice-over saying some dopey stuff about how everyone has pain.I don't know if it was like that, but that's how I picture it in my mind. A couple hours later I was home on the couch watching my recording of the season premier of the Voice. Take that you nasty cancer. You can't beat me.
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