From the Horse Herself

Thank you, Sister #1, for providing updates. Here are a few details to fill in:



My "showtime" was 6:30 AM, and we walked in at about 6:15 to find 4 other patients already there, with no one yet at the desk.



At 6:35, a nurse came out to this waiting room and called my name. As I walked towards her, one of the other patients there said, "Why does she get to go first?"



***



I asked Mayfield about the early start time as it co-ordinated to his rock star morphology. He said by the time it was actually "his turn" to operate, it'd be 9:30. That is, we'd do the oopherectomy first, and it would be in the hands of Dr. Stickley, the OBGYN, as he supervised.



Dr. Stickley. Very nice, very professional. Very young. She can't be a day over 26. I'm glad Mayfield was there.



And "oopherectomy"? Surely I'm making that up, right?



No. That's what the ovary-removal is called. Because the tubes were snipped off, too, it is called a "Salinga oopherectomy." But the best part is the pronunciation of this word:



ooh-ooh-fer-ect-o-my



Yes. Both "o's"--given a long "o" pronunciation.



Said together, "salinga ooh-ooh-pherectomy" sounds like a drink that comes with a little umbrella.



Yet this is how Dr. Stickley and most of the nurses pronounced it.



Ridiculous. We don't say "Look at the animals in the zooh-ooh," do we?



***



The wake-up out of surgery this time was really, really rotten. I think the nurse anesthetist, Chuck, while a very nice man, woke me up too soon.



I was awake for when they wrapped me up. This not only hurt. It was also horrifying.



I was awake when they switched me back to a bed. This both hurt, and it was annoying as they asked me to do the moving. (e.g. "Shift your weight from hips to shoulders as you move across.") Folks! My ab muscles now have incisions in them!



By the time I got the recovery room, my stomach was on fire, my chest wound was on fire, and I was coughing and throwing up (with dry heaves, as I was empty) which made everything hurt that much more.



And, whereas for the first surgery, I had awoken to very good news--that I hadn't lost my muscle, that the cancerous lymph node was gone, too--and to Bryan in the recovery room with me, this time I woke up and was immediately conscious of the sheer sadness of the loss. Bryan wasn't permitted in this time, and I was so lonely, in so much pain, was so frustrated because one of my medical requests had been ignored.



It just all sucked. That whole day was crappy. Possibly the nadir of this entire cancer experience.

So, while on one hand "all went well," and we can be glad about that, on the other hand, what had to happen is not a great thing. The farther I can get from that day, the gladder I will be.

***

I was put upstairs this time, not in the ICU. This meant that I shared a room. I don't know what her condition was, but she complained a lot, all through the night about how nauseous she was. And she kept calling her kids on her cell phone and cussing them out. Something about their having taken her car out when she told them they couldn't. Her husband was in Iraq, and was not equipped with "side plates," which made her cuss a lot more because this endangered him.

All of which I learned by listening to her. But it's not eavesdropping when the other person's head is about 5 feet from yours with only a curtain separating you.

Her kids visited both days. A bunch of teenage boys, one of whom had a mohawk spiked about two feet high. These are people I had to parade past on my way to use the bathroom.

Hmm. Yeah. Well. If I were a more compassionate person, I might have done something--anything--to offer some comfort to her. But I really just wanted to check out as soon as possible.

***

Speaking of Iraq. This time, as I awaited surgery in the pre-op bay, the guy next to me was loud as he briefed his nurse. Bryan and I learned that he was 24 years old, and was having an operation on his shoulder because he'd thrown it out while steering his vehicle wildly to get out of a kill zone while on tour.

Just a little reminder not to refer to me as any kind of warrior.

***

I remembered to bring my own pillow this time. My own super-wonderful Tempurpedic servical-support foam pillow. And I used my bright pink survivor-ribbon pillow case my friend, Kathy, made for me, just to be festive. This made a huge difference. I was very comfortable.

***

What was uncomfortable for several days was the carbon dioxide left in my abdominal cavity from the laperoscopy. They infulated (Mayfield swears this is a word) me so they'd have room to look around and go to work. Then they let the gas out. But it doesn't all leave right away.

Instead, it escaped into my shoulders and made stabbing pains in my muscles. No drugs can help this. It's just a lot of owie owie owie until it finally goes away. Which, for me, was this morning.

***

Speaking of drugs, I'm already off the big ones. I take extra-strength tylenol and antibiotics to ward against any infection, as an infection would be particularly serious for my port to process. As of this morning, I was feeling pretty comfortable all the way around.

***

Met about a dozen nurses this time. It's a busy floor. They were busy men and women. All of them nice. None of them with time to chat with me. No fun stories there.

***

The tube is still in. This is the one Sister #1 mentioned. She should probably stop reading now, because she's easy-queasy. . . This is a drainage tube, left in while the skin is sewn around it. Bryan tends to it every morning and evening for me, and we are on track to have it taken out tomorrow morning at my follow-up.

Other than this tube, I've got ACE bandages wrapped around me a tightly as I can tolerate them. I can tolerate considerably more this time, as I'm no longer also wrapping a breast. Now it's just chest wall, the nerves to which have been cut. So. Wrap away.

***

Betsy tells me the kids are doing well, having lots of fun with the recent snowfall. The other night, Gemma scooched down into her sleeping bag so no one would hear her and started crying and crying because she missed me.

That's one of the saddest images of the past year.

She sounded very happy when I talked with her. Youth bounces back.

***

My right arm did swell up again from the fluid intake. It is also reducing again. I can only hope I can get it reversed in short order, and not over the course of a few months.

***

And here I sit: upright for longer periods of time, awake for most of the day, appetite restoring to normal. I'd be lying if I said I was in a very good place emotionally. Mostly, this is just a very sad time and I don't feel great. I feel absolutely laid low.

But. To paraphrase: I'm afflicted, not crushed; persecuted, not abandoned; struck down but not destroyed; I'm blessed beyond a curse for His promise endures.

And one of His promises is that things won't always be like this.