I just woke up after a great night's sleep in my own bed. The pain is pretty bad, but Percoset makes it manageable. I was even able to get up on my own to go to the bathroom. I couldn't do that after my mastectomy surgery. A well-meaning friend warned me this surgery would be much worse than the mastectomy. So far that is not my experience. Actually, so far the worst part is that my back itches and I'm unable to manage the contortions required to reach - too much chest muscle. I'm thinking of a kitchen tool - a Tupperware pasta server with delightful little prongs that might do the trick.
My husband had a better idea - he uses his shower back brush and gives my back a thorough "scratching", avoiding my big scar. Then he rubs Gold Bond, a miracle cream my Mom introduced me to, all over. Ahhhh!
When we arrived at the hospital on Wednesday, the waiting room was packed. Half the people there were talking in Spanish. It was noisy and chaotic. But once they called my name and I passed through the doors from that room, peace prevailed. Sweet smiling nurses spoke softly. The lighting was suffused. I was run through the usual barrage of questions until my doctor arrived. Dr. Mosharaffa used a sharp marker to draw out his plans for me. He draws a vertical line, as I stand before him, from breast bone to belly button, measuring to my armpits for the symmetry he wants. He has me turn around to mark the part of my back muscle he will be using on my radiated side. With a plan I can't quite picture, he will cut the latissimus dorsi muscle w/tissue and skin , leaving the muscle connected to its blood supply and he will rotate this mass under my arm in place of the damaged skin he will cut away from my right chest. I ask him if he's brought his "A" game. Without hesitation he assures me he has. The left side simply involves the placement of an expander.
I have a "pick line" deftly inserted into a vein on my left hand. Not the pain of earlier digging expeditions. Another nurse acknowledges the special skill of this technician. The anesthesiologist explains his plan. I love the part where I fall into a deep sleep.
The memory of reawakening is foggy but I am acutely aware that the horrible tightness I felt before is not there. Wondrous relief. I feel my husband's warm hand holding my cold one and I hold on as I fight to climb out of my stupor. "Don't fight it. Rest." The voices say.
I have a roommate so my husband can't stay with me this time. They kick him out at 8PM. My roomie, Trudy, has had her thyroid removed. She hasn't heard yet whether it is cancerous or not. We bond despite the curtain she wants to remain between us. She is a tiny 70 year-old. Her 50 something boyfriend visits a couple of times.
It must be said, the nurses at Saint Joe's are the best. My one night stay was a bit like a slumber party. Stephanie and Rosemary seemed to hover over me.Rosemary is my age and had been through breast cancer herself. When she had a few minutes, she sat on the edge of my bed and we swapped war stories. She prides herself on the importance of pillow placement. I don't think she was kidding when she said she was writing a book on the subject. Another nurse commented on how I had lucked out in the pillow department with five of the smooth fluffy little white things cocooning me in comfort. Rosemary, in her conspiratorial manner,brought me cherry popsicles. It set me on the path of remembering sneaking into my college dormitory kitchen to snatch the giant cardboard cylinder of strawberry ice cream with some friends. Those cherry popsicles have left an impossibly sweet taste in my mouth for St Joe's and its angels of mercy.
Susan took over daytime duty. My husband and she took up where they'd left off the before only this time she has heard my story of his transformation, the wonderful husband he has become through our cancer journey. Her smile never waivers as she watches him with new eyes. I love these women. Too bad it's a one night stand. But I look forward now to the tender loving care of the best nurse ever.
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