Surgery day

 Today was my lumpectomy surgery. It was a whole different chapter to my cancer adventure. We were up by 4:10 a.m. (hmm....I was up by 4:10) and after my morning prayers and shower, Tom was up too. With a nod and a kiss, we left for Milliard Fillmore Suburban Hospital and a 5:30 a.m. arrival. Checked in with a very chatty, pleasant admission lady. I was her first patient admission for the day. If she hadn't been caring, I just might have questioned whether this surgery was necessary! Not really. LOL

Was called into my first accommodations by a nurse named Mariellen. She was truly an angel. We connected immediately, exchanging information and stories. I loved that she was a good listener, and had a sense of humor, whereas I was a bit nervous. Not scared. Just nervous. And my blood pressure registered at 180. Maybe I was scared.

The other reason this woman was an angel. She inserted my IV in a split second, and I never felt her do it. Hallelujah! Then she convinced me that a short term blood thinner shot was required - in my upper thigh...Egads - and again, she was so good, I never felt it. God works through genuinely talented people.

And then I was wheeled through the freezing halls to see a radiologist. Honestly, this was my scary part. He was handsome, caring and kind, but his job was to insert a J-shaped wire into my left breast while giving me a mammogram. Actually, the wire is required so the surgeon knows where the microchip was placed during my initial core biopsy;  a consequence of my cancer lump disappearing during chemo. That wire indicates from where to take tissue samples during the lumpectomy. 

You have to know that I was shaking cold in that room as the wire was inserted. It might as well have been a fish hook. My breast was not numb. No lidocaine. Just me clutching the mammogram machine like I was squeezing Jesus's hand. The doctor and his nurse assistants kept telling me I was doing well.

When they took a second mammogram and readjusted the fish hook, I thought I was a goner. But then I felt better because they taped a paper cup over the wire.  Talk about taking my breath away!!! The fashion statement was outstanding, literally and gave me something to laugh about.

Back in my original room, my lower legs were wrapped in plastic covers. Plugged into a pump that hung on the side of the bed, the plastic covers expanded and contracted slowly, one leg and then the other. That set-up also protects against blood clots. 

Tom was there, watching TV; then the pre-op parade began. We met a variety of medical people: the assistant surgeon, interns, the anesthesiologist, and the surgeon. I can list their names, but why? 

The cutest was Jake, an anesthesiologist, the last jovial face I saw after getting situated on the narrow operating table (I was sure I was going to fall off) in the HUGE operating room. Filled with machines, attendants, and freezing cold air, I very quickly left for la-la-land and dreams of a completed surgery.

About an hour and a half later, I awoke to the fourth room in my adventure, shaking and quaking - No, the room wasn't shaking. That was me. It was a large recovery room. Nurses scurried. They were angels wrapping me and my bare head in hot blankets, bringing warmth to what was a very cold day. Sigh. Eventually, they gave me medications to stop the shaking and slight nausea. Without them, I might have gone back to sleep.

I became more human after an hour or so, and then was pushed to a fifth room where I got dressed and was given a snack. Apple juice and graham crackers were not my choice for a first meal. However, they were a signal that my stomach was better. And before I knew it, Tom had my coach to the hospital exit. He whisked me home - the gem that he is - and I slept in my beloved recliner for nearly four hours.

This story of my surgery is 'out there' so some of  you doing a lumpectomy might know what is involved. It only took the morning; we were home a little after lunch time. 

This is not meant to scare anyone. Your situation will be different. For me, with angels for nurses and Jesus holding my hand, this was a miracle day. The start of my morning devotions: Be Not Afraid...for I am with you!

My two incisions are tolerable with only extra strength Tylenol; my honey is happy with soup and sandwiches for supper. I am so blessed. Besides, I really got to see a lot of the hospital. It's amazing, and I was a fashion statement for a while, thanks to a very simple paper cup.

Awaiting now the tissue results from this day, I sign off,  The quilting cancer girl.