The Gorge

 It's Been Three Weeks...

It's been three weeks since my Mastectomy... let me fill you in. 

The days leading up to my surgery I was a nervous wreck.  I checked my bag three times an hour to make sure I had everything ready to go -- an there was really nothing in it.  I needed my glasses case and my phone charger, a change of clothes and a book to read that I knew I'd never feel calm enough to crack open.  Matt and I went to Walmart to get me a shirt that buttoned down the front and was baggy.  I had no idea till that day that my closet included tops exclusively donned by pulling them over my head.  So I bought a bright yellow shirt that fit poorly and I honestly hated.  I also packed one of the three post-surgery bras I'd ordered from Amazon -- they were EXACTLY like my first training bras Mom bought me in the 4th grade.  

The day before my surgery happened to be an infusion day for me, so Mom and I went to Fairfax and did our usual routine.  It was a short visit since my Chemo is finished but I still have to go for "maintenance" every three weeks.  I'm still not 100 percent on what that means but it will continue till I hit my one year mark in October. It's cool though since I have barely any side effects from it and it only takes up a few hours of my time.  Afterward we picked up the boys from school, the kids did their homework and then we all ate dinner together -- like a normal Tuesday night.  

But it didn't FEEL like a normal Tuesday night.  It felt like I had walked to the edge of a gaping gorge.  Peeking over the edge I could see numbers and statistics and promises from doctors that I really didn't understand.  Matt and Mom and my kids and my sisters and brother, my aunts and my cousins and hundreds of prayer warriors (some of whom I've never met) they all walked me to the edge, but they would all walk over bridges to the other side.  For me there was no bridge.  I had to jump, to jump with nothing but a parachute of trust.  Trust in God and Trust in my doctors.  Trust in God --- LOL maybe it was a normal Tuesday night after all.  

Matt took Wednesday off.  We, the three of us, Mom, Matt and I, got the boys up together and took them to school.  Then we went to Mass.  I couldn't eat anything (not that I really wanted to) but Matt and I went to the diner and he had some breakfast.  We took our time and discussed light topics and tried to laugh.  Then we went home and gathered up my stuff, made sure Mom was all set to take care of the kids, and headed to the hospital.  We arrived before 1:00 and checked in at the Out Patient Surgery check-in.  Then we settled in the waiting room where Matt rubbed my back supportively and I tried to crawl into my own pocket. Then they called me back to Pre-Op.  

Pre-Op looks a lot like the ER with one gurney, a wall of hoses and gages and monitors and one very uncomfortable chair for Matt.  I stripped down to my underwear and put on the backwards nightgown and the stupid socks.  Then a couple of nurses came in. One asked me the endless stream of questions I've been asked at every doctor visit and infusion I'd been to in the last 6 months.  The other inserted my IV and took my vitals.  The first Doctor to come in was the Anesthesiologist - whom I had never met.  She immediately asked me about my horse voice.  I told her that I had been hospitalized for Pneumonia a month prior and that the couch was still lingering. She listened to my lungs and was unimpressed.  Immediately she wanted to pull the plug on the whole thing.  "I don't feel comfortable doing this."  I asked about the risks -- because once you get this ball started stopping it and starting it back up again seems scarier than just going through with it.  She told me that with my lungs compromised, going under anesthesia could slow my recovery.  That didn't seem so bad to me.  I mean, not halt worthy.  But apparently I had very little say in the matter.

The sleep doctor went to call my two surgeons and Matt and I were left to wonder what was going to happen next.  Dr. D (my Plastic surgeon) and Dr. T (Oncologist surgeon) appeared a little while later and thankfully they were both pro-procedure.  They did a chest x-ray on me which they compared to the x-ray they did while I was hospitalized a month before and they were encouraged by the noticeable improvement.  They also gave me a double Neb treatment with steroids to hedge their bets and promised the anesthesiologist they would keep me overnight for observation.  This must have made her happy because I never saw her again and Dr. D started drawing on my chest with a purple marker.  20 mins later Matt said "see you later" and they wheeled me down to the OR.  

I'll be honest, before they put me out, I bid a silent adieu to the big jugs that had been with me most of my life.  They were good girls and served me well.  

When I woke up, I was already in our room with Matt.  I had made it to the other side of the gorge.