It was just a year ago that I went in to the hospital for a bilateral mastectomy. It seems like ages ago. I remember it clearly though, every detail.
My husband's aunt, my friend Jeanne and my husband went with me. My surgery was in the early afternoon and I was expected to go home the next day. Hard to believe, huh?
The plastic surgeon arrived first; we had to wait for the breast surgeon. Four hours, they told us. It ended up taking closer to 5 hours. By the time I actually came to, much later that evening, I didn't know what hit me. They were pumping me with morphine. I couldn't move. I was pretty much out of it. I recall my husband telling me everything went well; that was it.
That first night was the worst. I couldn't get out of bed myself, couldn't lift my upper body. I remember the call button fell to the floor and I struggled to get a nurse to come in to help me. I remember yelling Help over and over until someone finally came in to assist me so I could go to the restroom. I remember the constant noise all night long in the hospital, paging of nurses, the constant interruption of sleep for one thing or another.
I was more aware the next day but still groggy. My husband told me the surgeon found cancer in my lymph nodes and had to pull several, but the cancer cells were dead from the chemo. She wanted to be extra careful so she pulled them out.
I was afraid to see what I looked like. So I really didn't look. The surgeon came in and said there was no way I was ready to go home. My husband thankfully handled the insurance issues that arose from adding an unexpected day to my stay. The nurses forced me to get up and walk...and walk I did. It was painful, but it was the only way I could get home.
The food was awful. I couldn't eat. Jeff and Jeanne brought me a cup of Marble Slab ice cream and I was forever grateful. Unfortunately, it pumped up my sugar level causing the nurses to want to shoot me up with insulin. I explained that I'd eaten ice cream and didn't want the shot! Thank goodness they backed off.
A good friend had somehow persuaded the powers at the hospital to give me a private room. That was a real blessing.
In all, I was grateful to have friends and family around. Going home was tough. My muscles were useless. I felt helpless. I couldn't get up and down for days without assistance. My husband's aunt was here to help and she would pull me up by the back of my pajama pants. What fun!
Looking back now, it seems like it was years ago. So much has happened since. I'm grateful that I had great friends to help me through this tough time, those who visited, brought food, brought fun and laughter to an almost surreal situation.
Today, I look "normal." You'd never know that I went through all that. But boy, do I remember it all...
