After 7 hours in the OR

Last Tuesday I checked in at the surgery desk at The Huntsman. Jeff and my parents came with me. I wish I could say the check-in experience and subsequent stay were like checking in at a fancy hotel but that was not the case. Everyone was lovely, of course. People tend to feel sorry for you when you have cancer, doctors and nurses included so the service was top notch in that regard. Jeff and I were put in a room where the parade of doctors, residents, med students, PAs and nurses began filing in and out of the room. The top question was, “What are you having done today?” I know why they ask this, but it still strikes me as funny. If I were more quick-witted I’d say something funny, but I know how pressed for time most of the staff are so I just repeated the procedure like a good patient would.

I felt preternaturally calm the day of surgery. The night before I was remembering the OR procedures I observed during nursing school clinicals and I was far from calm. The man with the parotid gland mass that was cancerous. The man having the prostatectomy. The woman having exploratory laparoscopic abdominal surgery. I remember the chilled air, the smell of the cautery tool, the subtle choreography between the attending, his PA, the surgery tech and the anesthesiologist. Seeing the inside of the vessels of clay that we all are housed within felt like being let in on some great secret. The skilled violence that I witnessed mesmerized me and made me wish I’d thought about going to Medical School when I was young. Back then I was stepping into the medical world as a 36 year old and although I thought about the patients as people, they and their feelings were far removed from myself. But now it was me. And selfishly, that changes perspective when you are the one unconscious on the operating room table.

After I bared my bosoms to what felt akin to an amount of people at Mardi-gras on Bourbon Street I was ready to go. My doctor, Dr. Matsen had a frank discussion with me concerning my lymph nodes. She suspected that she’d still find cancer there and if she took it out and it felt “grossly abnormal” she’d be inclined to just proceed with the full axillary dissection. I chuckled and told her no one ever wants to be described as “grossly abnormal” but I understood what she was saying. She would still inject the blue dye to find the sentinel lymph node and then remove it and go from there. This is the first lymph node that drains my breast. The one that I ignored for far too long. The one that carried the cancer cells to my blood stream and into my bone. I can’t say I was sorry to see it go, but an axillary dissection would add time to the surgery and another procedure called a lympho-venous bypass. That procedure is done by the plastic surgeon. They join a lymph vessel and a vein together in the hopes that I will not get lymphedema in my left arm after surgery.

The last thing I remember is kissing Jeff goodbye and my bed beginning to be wheeled out of the room. I woke up and asked what time it was. They told me my surgery had stretched from 11:30 to 6:30. I kept apologizing for keeping the PACU team there later than planned even though I know it wasn’t my fault the surgery went long. My parents and Jeff greeted me in a recovery room. They told me the surgery had gone well. The surgeon felt good about all the tissue she had removed and the plastic surgeon felt good about the lympho-venous bypass and the shape of my new, much smaller breast. I had two drains placed to help drain the surgical sites as I healed. Thanks to the sentinel node injection of blue dye I was grossly, abnormally blueish-pale. When I look at pictures Brielle took of me when I got home from the hospital that night I think I’m looking at a corpse. I know that’s morbid but it’s true. “You looked freaky, Mom.” She isn’t wrong.

I’ve been doing pretty well at home. As warned my drains are the biggest complaint that I have. I should be able to have them removed within a couple of weeks. The pain that I feel is a weird cramping/burning sensation in my breast and armpit. I’m told this is normal. Under my arm is also numb. So that is a little weird. I’ve been having a difficult time sleeping. I’m anxious to get the pathology report back. If the tissue margins are clear of cancer cells then that’s good news and we will proceed with the plan. If they are not I will go back to surgery for a mastectomy. Not really what I want to do. The surgeon said the pathology should be back within a week. It feels like forever.

I’m working from home this week because I have the best bosses and they understand I need to make money but I also don’t want to drag my lop-sided self and surgery drains back to the clinic just yet. Anyway, here are some fun pictures Brie took of me as I convalesced last week. Makeover done by Brielle of course.

I want to express my gratitude to all my friends and family. For those in Clarkston asking my parents how I’m doing, and those that let me know you are praying for me…I’m so humbled and grateful that you care.