Three weeks ago today, I had surgery. I still have one drain (the other fell out in the shower just over a week post-op). I feel like I have a large rubberband in my left armpit every time I lift my arm. Sometimes, I have to almost rotate my arm in order to lift it; and even then, it feels like the rubberband is stretching and is about to snap.
I have an appointment today, and was hopeful the drain could be removed - not going to happen. I'm beginning to think it will never be removed. I'm slowly becoming more independent once again; driving myself to my appointments, running small errands, trying to help out more with housework and cooking dinner. I'm enjoying my time off from work so far, but beginning to look forward to returning. I'm not yet sure when I'll begin chemotherapy; maybe that will be determined today at my appointment, or possibly next week. I had an echocardiogram Wednesday morning and while it was basically a sono of my heart, it was painful to do post-op. The tech (not realizing I had a left side mastectomy) asked me to lie on my left side with my arm above my head. Ok, these are two things I can't WAIT to do! As a side sleeper, not being able to sleep on my left side is not making me happy. I can sleep on my right side, but it's not as comfortable as it used to be, and I have to be careful of the drain coming out of my left side, and make sure it doesn't pull or tug. So, during the echo, we modified the position to what I could do comfortably. I also had to have contrast, so a nurse came in and give me an IV for the contrast. I also had to pee in a cup for a pregnancy test, which was clearly going to be negative; what do they think I'm doing during recovery for the past three weeks!? So humiliating and unfair that guys don't have to disclose the last time they got lucky by peeing in a cup when they go to the doctor!
Just trying to find humorous ways to pass my time as of now. I have spent more time on Facebook in the last three weeks than I probably have the last two years. Hopefully soon I can occupy my time in a much better capacity - work! :)
Friday, June 14, 2013
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Surgery was Friday, May 24 at 10am. I was in surgery for about 4 hours and recovery for 2 hours, then taken to the 7th floor for my stay in the hospital. The morning of surgery I had to put EMLA cream around the nipple of my left breast and saran wrap over the top for approximately an hour to numb the area. I had to be in nuclear medicine at 7am where they injected me with a radioactive dye and scanned the area several times. The injections hurt a lot more than the aspiration procedure, the dye stung and burned going in, but thankfully it was short lived. A second set of scans needed to be performed, and then I was on my way to the second floor, One Day Surgery department to check in at about 8:40am. My parents ran downstairs to grab a bite for breakfast and I was called back to get prepped for surgery. The usual vital signs taken, questions asked, urine test to confirm I wasn't pregnant, etc. and then my parents were allowed to come back before I was wheeled to the operating room. Kissed my mom goodbye and as we were rolling down the hallway, I lost it. Started bawling. Pulled my gown over my head as I sobbed all the way down the hallway and into the room. The nurses with me in the operating room were great. One gave me a hug and kept reassuring me that I was in good hands. I knew I was in good hands, I just didn't want to be there at that moment. I started thinking of what was coming and that was so unpleasant that I think I freaked myself out. I didn't want to have a mastectomy, I wanted to be at work. I didn't want to think about the recovery period and the start of chemotherapy, I wanted to be going through the motions of my everyday life, as boring as it is at times.
I woke up in the recovery room and it wasn't long before I was wheeled out to my room. I remember feeling incredibly tired. It was hard to open my eyes and appear awake, but I could hear and understand everything happening around me. I remember opening my eyes enough to see being wheeled around the corner of the unit and a guy and girl standing in the hallway. I remember thinking, "geeze, don't get out of the way for the person driving my bed...just stand there gawking at us." I remember being pushed past a door, then backed into that room and looking over as the same guy looked at me. I remember hearing, "Well, there goes the private room." I remember the nurses coming in and hooking up my IV next to my bed, taking my vitals and putting a pulse ox on my finger which monitored my heart rate and oxygen saturation. I remember the hallway guy walking past my bed and going to the patient on the other side of the pulled curtain (I never saw my roommate) and saying to her, "Well, you get a roommate. But she looks young. Maybe she'll be better than the last one." and hearing her reply, "Well, it can't be worse." and their ensuing conversation about her previous roommate, who as I understand from their discussion had terrible gas from a stomach or bowel procedure, and how awful they thought it was having her as a roommate. I also remember thinking how little privacy those damn curtains really provide between the beds. There were several more times I remember my roommate and her husbands disdain of my presence by the comments they made. I am sure they thought I was asleep and didn't hear a word they said, but I heard everything they said and even picked up on their disgust that "she" no longer had her own room.
Later that evening, the nurses came in and asked me to dangle off the side of the bed to work out some of the anesthesia. They helped me up to sit on the side of my bed as Dr. Ray, my surgeon came in to talk to the woman on the other side of the curtain. Those curtains that don't provide the least bit of privacy. As I sit, with my curtain drawn around me, with a binder around my chest and a sheet up to my stomach, with my feet dangling off the side of the bed, I learned that the woman on the other side of that curtain was in way worse shape than I ever hope to be. Pancreatic, liver and kidney cancer was apparently her diagnosis and she was having a Whipple procedure on Wednesday. Having worked in the ER, I knew of the Whipple, but didn't know exactly what it was; I just remember it's a pretty specialized procedure and not something you necessarily want to have to endure. Dr. Ray left and then came back a few minutes later to tell her that I was also his patient. He came into my curtain and was pleased to see me sitting on the side of the bed. He informed me that she was also his patient and we should talk to each other. I remember wondering at that moment if he knew how she and her husband had spoken about me, if he would feel that it was important that we 'bond' by talking to each other. Dr. Ray and I talked and I knew fully well that the curtain was giving away all my secrets to the woman on the other side; she would know I had a mastectomy, my diagnosis, my plan for recovery. After Dr. Ray left, the voice on the other side of the curtain introduced herself to me and said, "I'm sure you think I'm some grumpy old 52 year old woman." Thinking it would be rude to agree, I said, "Well, we all have our moments. Just gotta get through it and get to a better place." We spoke briefly and she informed that she was having a Wipple on Wednesday. She asked what I had, and I informed that I had a mastectomy which meant my prospects as a Hooters Girl was over. She laughed and said I had a great attitude. I hoped some of that would rub off on her as I could tell she was not in a good place emotionally.
It was downhill from there. Multiple visitors walking past my bed and people bringing their children (kids who appeared to be aged 7-11) finally had me seeing red. I informed the tech who came to take my vitals I was close to calling the house officer. She got the message loud and clear and told her charge nurse who came in and listened to my complaint and then told me they had an open room and would move me. Ahhh....finally silence on Saturday evening and I was so relieved I went to sleep at 8:30pm and didn't wake until almost 6am.
I was discharged Sunday at 11am. My mom came to get me and we ended up driving through the cemetery to see the flags for Memorial Day, giving Walgreens a little more time to fill my prescriptions. Once we got home, my sister brought my three nephews over to see me and Tanner gave me a lovely card he made with foam stickers and said to me, "Can I give you a hug?" How could I say no!? I told him he could hug me on the right side and very gingerly he hugged me - he's such a lover. We'll have to watch him when he grows up! :)
Bryce and Skylar were happy to give me a right handed high five. Once they left, I was tired and ended up taking a nap. So begins the recovery at my parents......
I woke up in the recovery room and it wasn't long before I was wheeled out to my room. I remember feeling incredibly tired. It was hard to open my eyes and appear awake, but I could hear and understand everything happening around me. I remember opening my eyes enough to see being wheeled around the corner of the unit and a guy and girl standing in the hallway. I remember thinking, "geeze, don't get out of the way for the person driving my bed...just stand there gawking at us." I remember being pushed past a door, then backed into that room and looking over as the same guy looked at me. I remember hearing, "Well, there goes the private room." I remember the nurses coming in and hooking up my IV next to my bed, taking my vitals and putting a pulse ox on my finger which monitored my heart rate and oxygen saturation. I remember the hallway guy walking past my bed and going to the patient on the other side of the pulled curtain (I never saw my roommate) and saying to her, "Well, you get a roommate. But she looks young. Maybe she'll be better than the last one." and hearing her reply, "Well, it can't be worse." and their ensuing conversation about her previous roommate, who as I understand from their discussion had terrible gas from a stomach or bowel procedure, and how awful they thought it was having her as a roommate. I also remember thinking how little privacy those damn curtains really provide between the beds. There were several more times I remember my roommate and her husbands disdain of my presence by the comments they made. I am sure they thought I was asleep and didn't hear a word they said, but I heard everything they said and even picked up on their disgust that "she" no longer had her own room.
Later that evening, the nurses came in and asked me to dangle off the side of the bed to work out some of the anesthesia. They helped me up to sit on the side of my bed as Dr. Ray, my surgeon came in to talk to the woman on the other side of the curtain. Those curtains that don't provide the least bit of privacy. As I sit, with my curtain drawn around me, with a binder around my chest and a sheet up to my stomach, with my feet dangling off the side of the bed, I learned that the woman on the other side of that curtain was in way worse shape than I ever hope to be. Pancreatic, liver and kidney cancer was apparently her diagnosis and she was having a Whipple procedure on Wednesday. Having worked in the ER, I knew of the Whipple, but didn't know exactly what it was; I just remember it's a pretty specialized procedure and not something you necessarily want to have to endure. Dr. Ray left and then came back a few minutes later to tell her that I was also his patient. He came into my curtain and was pleased to see me sitting on the side of the bed. He informed me that she was also his patient and we should talk to each other. I remember wondering at that moment if he knew how she and her husband had spoken about me, if he would feel that it was important that we 'bond' by talking to each other. Dr. Ray and I talked and I knew fully well that the curtain was giving away all my secrets to the woman on the other side; she would know I had a mastectomy, my diagnosis, my plan for recovery. After Dr. Ray left, the voice on the other side of the curtain introduced herself to me and said, "I'm sure you think I'm some grumpy old 52 year old woman." Thinking it would be rude to agree, I said, "Well, we all have our moments. Just gotta get through it and get to a better place." We spoke briefly and she informed that she was having a Wipple on Wednesday. She asked what I had, and I informed that I had a mastectomy which meant my prospects as a Hooters Girl was over. She laughed and said I had a great attitude. I hoped some of that would rub off on her as I could tell she was not in a good place emotionally.
It was downhill from there. Multiple visitors walking past my bed and people bringing their children (kids who appeared to be aged 7-11) finally had me seeing red. I informed the tech who came to take my vitals I was close to calling the house officer. She got the message loud and clear and told her charge nurse who came in and listened to my complaint and then told me they had an open room and would move me. Ahhh....finally silence on Saturday evening and I was so relieved I went to sleep at 8:30pm and didn't wake until almost 6am.
I was discharged Sunday at 11am. My mom came to get me and we ended up driving through the cemetery to see the flags for Memorial Day, giving Walgreens a little more time to fill my prescriptions. Once we got home, my sister brought my three nephews over to see me and Tanner gave me a lovely card he made with foam stickers and said to me, "Can I give you a hug?" How could I say no!? I told him he could hug me on the right side and very gingerly he hugged me - he's such a lover. We'll have to watch him when he grows up! :)
Bryce and Skylar were happy to give me a right handed high five. Once they left, I was tired and ended up taking a nap. So begins the recovery at my parents......
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