I had envisioned so many times what I would think when I woke up. I really hoped it would be, "I'm cancer free!" It was not. That thought didn't come to me until several hours later when someone asked me how it felt to be cancer free. No, my first thought was, "Ouch. Wow, this hurts." And then, "What day is it? Is it Sunday morning? Am I late for church?" (Seriously?) And then it felt like it was very quickly thereafter that they moved me from the immediate recovery area to what would be my room, but really wasn't much of a room. It was the 23-hour unit, and it was more of a nook than a room, with a curtain instead of a door. Not great for privacy or quiet. Luckily, I had no trouble drifting in and out of sleep, even still! (I later learned that the reason for my non-room was that the hospital was at 105% capacity! Guess I'm grateful for what I got!)
I read later on Michael's Facebook page that they waited two hours after my surgery to see me. As far as I was concerned, it was pretty immediate. Suddenly, I heard voices of people I loved and opened my eyes and there was Michael, and my mom carrying three beautiful pink roses, and my dad, all smiling at me. Welcome to consciousness! Michael also presented me with something he'd found in the gift shop - a plaque with a picture of a dog looking very much like Klaus, that said, "A spoiled rotten Dachshund lives here." True enough. It made me feel like Klaus was there, too. (As I write this, he is sitting on my feet, in the flesh, and I admit that is much better than the plaque.)
Those first few hours are pretty blurry. I had an IV for antibiotics, electrolytes, and pain meds. I was on oxygen - that annoying thing in my nose - and I was only too glad to be done with that a bit later! And I was in a lot of pain - it took a while to figure out the right combination of meds. I immediately had someone put out my beautiful new quilt on my bed, and this was quite a topic of conversation among hospital personnel. "That doesn't look like hospital issue!" "Look at that quilt!" Even strangers walking by mentioned it. I insisted that one heals better when one is healing under a quilt full of prayers. It certainly made me feel loved. :) I also remember a parade of pastors coming through. One delivered a prayer shawl made by someone at her church, which lay on my pillow while I was in bed. A couple others offered prayers. I'd guess they aren't used to five pastor visits for one patient in one 24-hour period!
My primary memories of those first hours are of a lot of pain, and not being able to talk very well due to a dry mouth and sore throat (you can guess, given how verbose I am, how difficult this must have been!), and how, due to anesthesia and pain meds, I would start a sentence and by the end of it not remember how it had started. Or I would drift off in the middle. Sort of a silly state, I guess. I remember the first time trying to go to the bathroom was utterly excruciating. I felt immense pain, and was very dizzy and nauseous. Trying to get a hold of the pain and nausea, I closed my eyes and breathed, but closing my eyes made the dizziness worse, and breathing deeply hurt, and made me cough, which hurt even more. I wanted to cry, but that hurt even more. I was determined, having made it as far as the side of the bed, to make it all the way to the bathroom, and the nurse cheered me on and helped where she could. To my utter disappointment, when I got the bathroom, it turned out I hardly had to go at all. All that for a few drops?! But, the next time I attempted the bathroom, it went much more smoothly, so much so that I walked all the way down the hall before returning to my bed. Big strides in a short time!
I also remember accidentally seeing my new breast for the first time. From what I had read and imagined, this would be a big moment in the process. The surgeon would be there, we might ask people to leave the room, it would be this big emotional experience when I would take the first step in accepting my new reality. Instead, I think I was trying to find something that fell or something silly like that and pulled my gown away, expecting that I had a bandage on the wound. I didn't! And there it was - a mound, and instead of a nipple, a large gash from where the nipple used to be to my armpit, glued shut, with marks where it had also been stapled at one point. I felt like I had been caught with a dirty magazine or something, and quickly dropped my gown, pretending I hadn't seen anything. I vowed to myself that I wouldn't look again until I could do it the proper way, with the surgeon present, like it was supposed to be. But after the gown was covering it, I still looked and smiled to myself that there was indeed a mound there. I had cleavage. I had two uneven boobs, one with a pretty scary looking gash on it, but there were two.
Then things got difficult. Mid-afternoon, Michael got a call from his neighbor that his dog, Daisy, was lying still and not responding. Michael had planned to spend the whole day in the hospital, but now went to tend to his other girl. He kept me posted via text. Turns out she had had some seizures, possibly due to infection and fevers. Then the doctor thought it might be neurological, possibly a brain tumor. Getting these updates over text was surreal - there was no discernible emotion in them, and because I was so medicated, I couldn't generate any of my own. Later that afternoon he returned. Daisy was stable, he said, and still at the vet. He would stay with me until the vet closed. Everyone stayed with me until visiting hours were over, about 8pm. My parents went back to my aunt and uncle's house, where they are staying while they are here, and Michael returned to the vet. Shortly thereafter I got a text: "Vet doesn't think she'll make it through the night." My poor boy! I mean, poor Daisy of course, but my sweet Michael did not need this right now, when he was already mustering all he had to care for me! This is a man who grew up an only child and saw his dogs as his brothers and sisters, and now as his children. He needed Daisy to comfort him right now! Even through the meds, my heart ached for Michael... and now everyone had gone home and I was alone in the hospital.
To distract myself, I turned to my many emails from the day. Among them I found one from our mortgage originator. You may remember that we had found a house, had our offer accepted, had a successful inspection and were well on our way to home ownership. I had signed the mortgage application the day before, knowing there was just one outstanding document about my student loans which I would get to her as soon as possible. Now I received an email: "As we discussed, we are having trouble qualifying you for your mortgage due to your student loans." Huh?? Apparently there was some confusion. After consolidating my loans last summer, I was not required to make payments on them for the first year, so she had not included this in the calculation, but since I will begin making payments again in November, this does need to be included. How did this oversight happen? Suddenly we don't qualify for what we were told we would. I was furious, frantic. Will we lose the house? Will we lose the grant? This was the one piece of my perfectly laid out life plan that had hung on through all of this, and now it too seemed to be crumbling. And WHY would she write me this email the afternoon of my mastectomy?? She knew I had this surgery today, she knew I was emotional about it (I had fallen apart over the phone with her before), and she didn't even acknowledge in the email that she knew I was recovering or anything. Just straight into, "As you know, you don't qualify." NO I DID NOT KNOW!! I needed to talk to someone. I couldn't talk to Michael - he was already a wreck. My parents were likely exhausted. I forwarded the email to our real estate agent, also a friend, and she was helpful. I called my dad in tears and he said to go to sleep, there was nothing I could do right now. But how? I was so mad - I needed to rest! I needed to sleep! Why this?!
At the urging of my parents, I called the nurse in and sobbed to her, and asked for something to help me sleep. "Saint Sendie" gave me some Xanax, the one drug I have actually taken before to help me sleep, but also helped with my heightened levels of anxiety. As she was getting me ready to sleep, we talked a bit. She talked about how her son had had cancer when he was two, and now was 15. She said life can certain be tough sometimes, but she added, "But we have this gracious God, who never promised to take away all those troubles, but promised to be with us through them." I said she just preached to me one of my favorite sermons. (Later, she preached another of my favorite sermons: "We are so broken, all of us, but we carry on with God and with each other, and the light shines through.") I was able to get some disjointed sleep that night. What a night.
The next morning I was awakened by a team of plastic surgeons, checking in on me. They were very perky and friendly. "Can you just lean forward?" "Can you pull your gown out here so I can take a look?" Easy for them to say! Saint Sendie stood by, looking concerned. They told me about my incision, about how it would heal... I don't really remember a word of it. After the left, my nurse swooped in and tended to me. "I love how they say, 'Just sit up,' like that is so easy to do after you've been cut open!" She said. She helped me get comfortable again, then straightened my quilt ("Such a beautiful quilt should be smooth and straight, so we can see it!"). Sweet Sendie.
Sometime that morning, I got another text from Michael: "I"m going to say goodbye to Daisy." He was able to go and be with her, scratch her ears and her nose, sing her a couple of her favorite songs, before being with her while they put her down. It was killing me that I couldn't be there with him, holding his hand. He needed me! And I was stuck in the hospital, barely able to move. What an injustice. My poor boy. By the time he got to the hospital, he looked okay, at least holding it together. He was being strong for me, but I knew he was hurting. Later, when we were alone, he was able to tell me a bit about how he was feeling. My heart hurts for him. :(
I grew progressively stronger through the day, and finally decided that I could go home after all. I was perky, felt more like myself. When they took out my IV, I knew I was set - going home! I spent the rest of the day on the couch, sort of watching TV, sort of dozing, sort of eating pizza. It's all pretty blurry. Yesterday I spent my first whole day at home, and it went all right. We have a race going to see which of my drains will finish draining first (it's neck and neck - just when you think Drain #1 is behind #2, it makes a comeback or #2 slacks off!). We have tried various concoctions to get my bodily functions back on track after pain meds and anesthesia, so far with not much success except that we have realized what does not work. I have gotten good use out of my vomit bucket, much to Klaus's interest. Because I know it weirds people out, I usually make a joke after all that hard earned food comes back up - I will spare you from these. We have learned that narcotics and my empty tummy do not get along. (When I called the hospital hotline to ask about this, the guy I talked to asked what procedure I'd had. "Mastectomy with implant reconstruction." He said, "Is that M-A-S-T-E-C-T-O-M-Y?" I chuckled. He said, "I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with the procedure." I said nothing, stunned. He must be kidding. "Is that spelling correct?" he asked again. "Yeah..." Had this guy not even turned on the news lately?? Thankfully, he connected me to a doctor who had heard of the procedure.)
And now Michael is back at work, and my parents are cleaning my house for me. Hooray! Michael has set up a hard drive full of TV and movies to keep me entertained. I'm breaking into that soon. Hopefully we'll figure out the mortgage stuff soon. Life could be worse, I suppose.
Signing off for now...
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