Chemo’s complete and it was no walk through the park. After the third treatment I was so done with all this crap that it was hard to go through it again. And I didn’t even have the worst type of chemo treatment. But it’s finished, praise God. And Glory to God the tumors shrank to the point my doctor couldn’t feel them. Before I began my treatments I asked the prayer team to pray that the chemo would target the cancer cells (because I know that it can’t do that…only God can make that happen).
I can hardly believe surgery day is already here. What in the world am I doing? Is this for real? I will be minus one breast TODAY. Okay, the best I can do is to go thru the motions.
Hospital check in is easy, but my nervousness is making me shiver. They call my name. Maybe I can change my name. ha ha I go back where I am given one of those lovely patient gowns. Rats, I wish I had just worn my regular cotton undies. Did you know they won’t let you wear rayon? That was one wasted trip to Victoria’s Secret for new undies. ha ha
The IV over with, my hubby comes into my “room.” The pre-op room is sectioned off by curtains similar to an ER. Then comes the really fun part. I hope you are reading a lot of sarcasm here. They wheel me down a hallway and into a small room. There are two ladies that are there to inject the dye/contrast whatever it is called. One lady, who I will be forever thankful to, holds my hand and explains the procedure as we go. They give me “feel good” meds in my IV. I’m all for that. A nurse (I guess she’s a nurse) sprays my breast with a numbing spray. She then injects my breast six times. As I was warned, it stings as it is being injected. Six bee stings. Ouch! But yay it’s done. I hate being such a big baby, but I am what I am. I go back to pre-op for a while. The waiting is strange. I want the surgery over with, but yet I don’t want to go.
Being wheeled to surgery feels like riding in an amusement ride with high speed, bumps and turns. Maybe I should have said yes, when they asked if I needed more “happy” meds. The first thing I notice as we enter the OR is the HUGE light over the operating table. They have me slide off my gurney onto the table. Is it to late to back out? The anesthesiologist lays an oxygen mask lightly over my nose and tells me he wants me to breathe some oxygen. Fear and panic come banging on my door. Will I survive the surgery? What if I have some type of reaction or something goes wrong and I die? What if these are my last moments? Clatter sounds echo to my right. I’m afraid to look because I just know it is probably surgical instruments. It definitely sounds like metal. Thank you Father for the blood of Jesus. The anesthesiologist wants me to take three deep breaths for him. Okay. I can do that.
I open my eyes. There is a nurse near my gurney, but she has her back to me. I think she is writing. I’m in the post op and I can’t get my mouth to move to speak. There’s some pain. It’s an ache, but not a stabbing pain like I thought it would be. I make a moan sound trying to talk. The nurse gives me some pain meds. Awww! That is better. She calls someone to take me to my room.
The surgery is over and I’m okay. Yes! There’s my hubby and some of my family waiting in the room as I am rolled in. I slide over to the bed. Wow! I’m actually feeling pretty good.
You know how some people wonder what their funeral will be like? Well, I felt like a corpse laid out at a funeral as my family sat in a straight row by my bed just staring at me. And I thought sliding my underwear off under my gown in the pre-op was awkward! Let’s try talking them to liven things up. Nope. Not working. They are back to just staring at me. After another awkward 30 minutes they are leaving. Shew!
My hubby stays to help me with a few things. I take my first venture to the bathroom with my nurses assistance. Extreme nausea hits like I have never had before in my entire life. Couldn’t it wait till I at least made it to the bathroom. I have to sit down, so I speed as fast as I can to the “throne.” I just sit there as waves of nausea rush over me. I can’t get back to the bed like this. I say quick Jesus prayers. My nurse deserves a metal. She probably thinks I’m nuts. She goes to get medicine for the nausea and injects a little into my IV so I can walk to the bed. I love you hospital bed. She injects the rest of the dose. I am out like a light within 5 minutes. I think the nurse is as close to an angel as you can get.
The next day I am back on the road for home with anti-nausea pills and pain meds. Thankfully no more nausea. Must have been the anesthesia. I’m not feeling a lot of pain either. The pathology report will take some time to come back.
It’s safe to say, if I can make it through this mastectomy being the BIG sissy that I am, anyone can do it.