December 16th, 2020
There definitely was no sleep to be had the night before. It seems like you wait a lifetime to get to this moment, but when the moment finally arrives, you JUST DON’T WANNA. Of course, I would never not go through with it, but my ping-pong brain was in overdrive and I was preparing for the worst. I told my children the night before how much I loved them. I didn’t want to leave them at my parents house, but I knew that was for the best. As I’ve said before, being on the other side of healthcare gives me insane anxiety because I’ve seen lots of good, but also so many scary outcomes. I went into surgery more prepared with paperwork for what might come than most people twice my age (shoutout to Leslie for helping me with this beforehand and making the process more than easy). <Link below for TN Advanced Directive and Living Will>
https://www.tn.gov/content/dam/tn/tenncare/documents/AdvanceDirectivesLivingWill.pdf
Phil and I arrived at the hospital at 5:30AM and I checked in to registration while he parked the car. As I mentioned in my prior post, the new computer system confusion caused an issue with my accounts. Turns out that the Cerner expert did, in fact, have the Nuclear Medicine Department use my surgical account the day before….. so several people floated in and out of my booth trying to figure out what to do for my situation. Interestingly, I also had a Medicare number attached to my chart which is curious because I, in no way, qualify for that service. Delete. Healthcare, I tell ya. Needless to say, the registration process was quite a bit longer than expected. We finally walked back to the pre-op waiting room a little after 7. My surgery is scheduled for 7:30. Eek. Let it go…. breathe…. patience…… do not be one of those patients…….
I did not have to wait long to go back. Phil and I said goodbye. He will not see me from this point until I’m walking out the door. Crazy right? Super impressed with my nurse. She is super thorough, very professional and efficient. The frustration with account numbers continues…… the IT people come back to play again, so my surgery start time is now at least an hour behind.
The slew of medical providers filters through my bedside area. I feel comfortable with all of their abilities so for that I am thankful. Dr. Vinsant flies in with rage….. TYPE A coming out full force now. The orders for my surgery have not come through, she’s aggravated with the new computer system that no one seems to know how to use and is throwing more curse words than I ever imagined would come out of her mouth. To a lot of patients, this may be frightening or plant seeds of doubt in the surgeon they chose. However, I quite enjoyed this side of her and more than understand her frustration in this situation. She’s hardcore….. I love it.
My particular pre-op bay was in a corner that faced the hallway of the rest of the unit. Several times, I made eye contact with some familiar eyes half-way down the hall. After all the necessary people had been by to speak with me, this familiar human came down to my curtain. As fate would have it, the other Anesthesiologist working that day was a guy I had gone to high school with. I’ve seen and chatted with him many times when I’ve seen him at work. He also happened to play soccer with my husband, Phil, who he went to visit with after I went back to surgery. He said he recognized my eyeballs from down the hall, commented on how crazy it was that we are at a place in life where things like this happen, and ordered me some extra medications to make me comfortable. How lucky am I?
I have to say, I have never sweat so much in my life waiting to go back to surgery. I have concerns that my boob markings are coming off again….. and I don’t want “Dr. D.” as I’ve come to call him to be mad at me for sweating off his marks. To the point I even ask my circulator nurse to tell him I’m sorry as they’re putting me to sleep. Ridiculous!
*Also per my cup o’ pee, I’m not pregnant. Ya-hoo!
Later that day…….
Timing of the rest of the day is lost to me. Even in my drugged up state, I am trying to remember to behave myself. I’m not sure if I accomplished being easy to deal with or being obnoxious, but I’m hoping for the best. Luck continues…… my PACU nurse is someone who I have worked with before. I am beyond excited to see a familiar face. The flashes that I remember: shivering….. she gave me Demerol for that….. then I asked for a puke bag because there go the hot liquids again….. she gave me Zofran. All I wanted to do was go to sleep. (I imagine myself laying there with my mouth open, drooling). The area was weird…… kinda like where I work with bays separated by curtains. I remember another patient being wheeled back beside me, curtains open. She was moaning and writhing in pain. I feel bad for her….. I feel bad for my nurse having two patients back-to-back. Although I could have been there for an hour….. time is lost to me.
As I was in and out of consciousness, I got rolled over to the discharge area with another nurse. Again, familiar, but only in passing. She brings back all the stuff I had packed to wear home….. what was I thinking? Why did I bring so much stuff? I’ve forgotten how to dress myself….. what’s the best thing to wear….. I’ve also lost decision-making skills along the way as well. Eventually…… “whatever you want me to wear lady”. Haha! No I didn’t actually say that. I have a binder around my chest that will unknowingly become a crutch and my best friend. I don’t wanna look. Ever. Never. Ever.
I have 2 JP drains…. I can deal with that…. but not really cuz I’m drug-drunk. My free help at home is not medically inclined so this should be interesting. I don’t seem to be bothered in the least by what has just happened to me. This stage of denial or ignorance may last a lifetime, I’m not sure. I am in healthcare, I can handle this…. people do this everyday….. and so many have it so much worse.
“YOUR TRAMA IS VALID
Even if other people have experienced “worse.” Even if someone else who went through the same thing doesn’t feel debilitated by it. Even if it “could have been avoided.” Even if it happened a long time ago. Even if no one knows. Your trama is real and valid and you deserve a space to talk about it. It isn’t desperate or pathetic or attention-seeking. It’s self-care. It’s inconceivably brave. And regardless of the magnitude of your struggle, you’re allowed to take care of yourself by processing and unloading some of the pain you carry. Your pain matters. Your experience matters. And your healing matters. Nothing and no one can take that away.” -Daniell Koepke
I remember being wheeled out to the car, seeing Phil, talking….. about what, I’ll never know. Was I asleep the whole way home? I know that I at least was texting with my sisters along the way. And I remember being fully awake pulling in the driveway because I was so excited to see them. They were standing in my huge picture window and we were waving to each other.
No way could I walk into the house by myself or anywhere really for the next couple days. I popped a squat in my favorite chaise lounger and there I stayed. In and out of consciousness…. drooling, then laughing, then staring into space, then sleeping, then re-positioning, then drunkily stumbling to the bathroom, then repeat. Drugs are bad guys. But I see why Michael Jackson loved the stuff…… I’ve never felt so rested.
My parents came for a bit and brought my children. I’m sure it was hard to see me in such a weird state, but I needed desperately to see them and have some Benny-Pocket hugs. They were so sweet to me (take it while you can get it…. for reals).
My minions immediately got to work with my pill schedule, drain schedule, forcing the incentive spirometer and walking me every 2 hours through the night. I have no awareness about me to otherwise direct them. So, I zombied around doing what I was told. The first night was so short…… I felt I had been asleep for all of 5 minutes when the little ninnies, Sister #1 and Sister #3, came in to my room to wake me up for all these activities. I slept sitting up on my other “husband” that Jenni got for me along with 3,000 other pillows built in a fort around me. I’ll come to realize that the mental preparedness for the breast reconstruction stages is either severely lacking or I somehow blacked out with that conversation. (Julie….. where you at?)
- Image courtesy of GIPHY and the Cartoon Network.