I don’t want to write about this. I don’t want to look this straight in the face and really feel into what was happening inside of me before I got wheeled into the OR to have my bilateral mastectomy. It’s a bummer really. I thought I’d be brave enough to write about this. I am brave enough…I’m just procrastinating.
This is the last picture of me whole. That’s a weird sentence to write but I haven’t felt the same since this day. A huge change started on the morning of September 5th and I was completely unaware of this fact. I was calm, I was too calm. It’s likely because I was trying not to think about the unknown, I was thinking about the moment I was in. I wanted to face this life altering experience with presence. If I was going to have to experience this I might as well really experience it and otice the smell of the air and the feel of my skin after my shower. I wanted to notice how my hair felt as I was braiding it. I wanted to hold my babies and really feel their sweet lives in my arms. I wanted to soak up every moment.
I woke up really early and showered with the prescribed soap all over my body. I wasn’t allowed to use any lotion after that shower (you know what, not lotioning after a shower in CO is not fun. It’s so dry here my skin instantly feels tight and cracked. Looking back I remember dreading that tight feeling. Weird, right? That I would be fixated on the feeling of not lotioning after a shower and not the fact that I was getting my breasts amputated and getting them replaced with sacks of silicone. But I digress.) I braided my hair because I knew it would be a few days before I could shower and I wouldn’t be able to lift my arms for a couple weeks. My dutch braids made me feel a little childlike, like this little baby that had to do this very adult thing. (Later, I saw another women going into surgery with dutch braids and I felt a little less childlike with my hair-do choice. It was in fact very practical.) I dressed in comfortable pants and a button down shirt (because it would be easier to get on and off without lifting my arms). I felt like I picked something that was as cute as it could be for the occasion. Picking the right outfit for occasions is pretty important to me, even for things like surgery.
I had to fast prior to surgery and fasting included coffee so I was feeling zombie-like as I tried to soak in the kids before I left. The picture above is very special to me. I wanted to capture that moment with me and the kids before I left. I’m glad I did that. I remember feeling really intent on documenting this “thing” I was walking into. I’m thankful to past me for having this picture taken. I didn’t realize it in that moment, but it does represent the person I was before this.
I didn’t need to be at the hospital until 9am which left us enough time to do school drop off for the girls and maintain some sense of normalcy for our kids. Eliza reached out and grabbed my hand while we were driving. My heart literally swelled. I’m not sure what she was trying to communicate but I felt she was signaling that she knew I was starting on a really tough journey that day. My fingers tingled while they were intertwined with my daughter’s fingers. Being her mother is such a dream come true and I knew I was going to have to ask a lot of her, more than ever before. Her grabbing my hand told me she was up for it, that she could rise to this occasion. Then she was out of the car walking towards her school doors and we were off to drop Jojo off. Jojo has autism and doesn’t emote much, so the drive to her school was business as usual. I thought about how much this was going to impact her and how challenging it would be for her. I had to shake it out of my head because that’s not where I wanted my mind to be on that day so I shifted my thoughts to soaking up Jojo’s presence. After dropping Jojo off things got real and we drove to the hospital… because I was in fact having surgery that day. Mixing normalcy in with extraordinary circumstances is disorienting! I was in charge of the music and I naturally made Chris listen to “You’re On Your Own Kid” by Taylor Swift at least 5 times. I was relating it because I was on my own too. I was going to experience this in my body and it would be my own experience, no one else’s. The song kind of starts with feeling sad about being alone but then by the end feeling empowered by the fact that you’ve got yourself and you’ve done a good job of taking care of yourself so far so there’s no reason to be afraid. Listen to it, it’s perfect.
As luck would have it I was on my period. Did you know you can’t wear a tampon during surgery? Yeah, I didn’t either. I learned that in surgery prep and thought “I won’t need to worry about that, I just had my period.” Well she came again and unreasonably early and heavy. I got period underwear and hoped for the best. I’ll tell you how that turned out later.
Here is a picture of me thinking I was recording a video and talking about how I was feeling and what was going through my head. I didn’t realize until weeks after the surgery that I never actually recorded a video. I’m bummed about that because I wanted to hear what I had to say. Dang. It’s actually really funny if you think about it. Of course I didn’t realize that I was only taking a picture, I was going in for major surgery! I have a lot of grace for myself considering the circumstances.
Chris and I walked into the hospital hand in hand and I felt a rush of nerves as the whoosh of hospital air swept past as the lobby doors opened. The hospital smelled sterile yet somehow musty. It was quiet too, kind of like everyone was in a somber mood. (That’s probably me projecting, either way it felt like there was some solidarity in the fact that we all had to be at the hospital for some reason.) I immediately found the bathroom. My period was so heavy and I had bled through during our ride. Shoot! I took care of that and decided to do some retail therapy in the gift shop. Impulsively, I decided that I was going to buy stuffies to give to the kids as a prize when I got home. (Really, they didn’t need a prize, I needed to give them a prize.) Two pink bears and two blue bears made the cut and I also found a prize for Rebecca who was holding down the fort while I was getting sliced and diced. As I was checking out I heard my name being called. It was now my turn to do the check-in process. I basically sat at a desk answering run of the mill questions like name and birth date and some others related to my health. I was to the point in my nervousness that I was talking a lot and laughing too loud at weird things. In such a state I have bent toward self deprecating humor and I made the lady doing my intake crack up. That brief interaction and laughter helped the lump in my throat loosen.
After we were checked in we were directed to the elevators to take us to the third floor where we would get further instructions about what to do. We gathered our things, thanked the lady and made our way to the elevators. Elevators always smell weird and this one was no exception, it made me feel gaggy. I was probably also feeling gaggy because I was nervous, but the elevator smell did not help with the situation. The elevators opened to a makeshift waiting area with flickering florescent lights. To my left was a desk where two very “vintage” ladies were seated (probably in their 80s…very impressive). They both wore a badge that said their names and the word “volunteer” under it. Oh boy. On their desk was a throw back to the 80’s and I noticed a list with the names of people who were having surgery that day. I can only assume it was put in alphabetical order, printed out, stapled together, and frequently shifted through with spit moistened fingers. There was not a computer in sight. Other patients and their loved ones were seated on chairs lining the L shaped waiting area. It wasn’t a fancy set up and I was more amused by this than alarmed, but now that I’m looking back, it does have a horror movie vibe to it.
After being found on the paper list of patients, an octogenarian kindly led Chris and I through a maze of halls to take me to my pre-op room. There I was asked to undress completely and put on a hospital gown. I had to break the news to my nurse that I was in fact on my period and it was really heavy. She told me to get naked and the only option was to wait with a pad under my ass to absorb whatever comes out. I was a little bit shocked and thought maybe I didn’t effectively communicate how heavy my period was and I reiterated the situation, she nodded and repeated her directive, so I did as instructed. I was cold because hospital gowns are worth nothing in terms of providing warmth. They are strictly to cover the body. I assumed I was going to get some warmed up blankets (which I would argue is the best part of having to be in the hospital) but instead I was introduced to this new fangled blanket that they fill with warm air. It’s literally like you’re sitting in a warm cloud. I loved it. I was poked and prodded a few more times and asked by every person who entered the room what I was having surgery for – “bilateral mastectomy and reconstruction”. I had to ensure at least 3 people that I knew what kind of surgery I was having and then we were left to wait. Another octogenarian came in and asked us some questions about how I was going to get home and who she should call when the surgery was over. We got to chatting and she told me about her husband, children and grandchildren. I pointed out to her that she was living the dream – work that matters to her, kids and grandchildren that love her, and a husband that sounded very kind. She agreed and smiled a beautifully aged smile, you could see that she was aging with love in her life. Goals, for sure.
Unfortunately, while we waited I had to go to the bathroom. I informed the nurse and I had to get out of the hospital bed while trying to hold my pad between my legs and not bleed all over the floor. If you have a uterus, you know the deluge of blood that comes out when you stand up. I was awkwardly standing there holding my pad so it could absorb the deluge and wondering what I was supposed to do now. Did I have to walk to the restroom holding the pad between my legs? The nurse noticed my puzzled look and told me to just throw the pad away and we’d get a new one when I got back. That somehow made sense to me, the bathroom was only a couple feet away. I wouldn’t bleed everywhere in such a quick trip, right? As luck would have it, the closest bathroom to my room (maybe 6 feet away) was occupied. So I had to make the unreasonably long journey to the next closest bathroom while I did in fact have blood dripping down my legs. I was trying to hold it in (even though I know that’s not possible) and walked as fast as I could to that other bathroom! My DNA only got on the toilet seat and I was able to clean it up with disinfecting wipes that were in the bathroom. I was also able to clean myself up. (What a mess. Periods are carnage.) I’m happy to say that the journey back to my pre-op room was less fraught with challenges.
Our wait just kept getting longer and poor Chris hadn’t eaten breakfast yet and I was getting worried about him. He refused to leave me even just for a little while to grab a bite at the cafeteria. It meant and means so much to me that he didn’t want me to have a moment of aloneness, if he could control it, he would be with me until I was taken back for surgery. He had to wait a long time because my scheduled 11am surgery didn’t happen until 3pm. I cannot tell you how much the waiting sucked. I was just sitting in the hospital bed ready to be taken back for hours. I worked so hard to not let my nerves get the best of me. I was remaining calm and really working to exercise patience but I’m only human and I did have a cry about it. Despite the tears I knew that there was nothing I could do to speed things along so I made peace with it and I put on the family comfort show, Bluey, and I looked for reasons to laugh. Chris knows how to make me laugh in any situation and really came in clutch for keeping spirits high. I’m so thankful he was with me. Here’s some pictures of us making the most of the situation
Finally, the nurse said the OR was ready for me and I was going to be wheeled back. My cheeks went numb and I looked over at Chris, the wait was over. He gave me one more kiss and they wheeled my bed out of the room and through the hospital hallways to the OR. God, I felt like I was in the twilight zone. The temperature drop was significant in the OR and I began to shiver. There were nurses and doctors walking around the room busying themselves with preparations for my surgery. Everyone introduced themselves to me and they asked me one last time for my name and birth date and what I was going to be having done on that surgery table. “A bilateral mastectomy with direct reconstruction.”
Shit, it was real.
After I lifted my naked body onto the table and got positioned, the anesthesiologist did her thing. I started counting down backward from 10 with the oxygen mask pressed against the bridge of my nose making the “cerrrrrrrr” sound as oxygen filled the mask. Everything went black.
A couple hours later I was waking up to my husband telling me everything went well and I could go home after they observe me for a while. I remember having a green smoothie too, it was the best green smoothie I’d ever had. Things are a little fuzzy, but I do remember that I was so relieved that it was finally over. I didn’t have to worry about the surgery anymore, I had survived it. The tumor was removed and I was now actively fighting against the cancer that was inside me. I was finally in the ring, I was finally fighting.
Chris shot this picture before I woke up.
Then I took one of myself so document that I survived! So drugged up.
After all of that I was given post op instructions and sent home. Yep, they sent me home the same day! My pain wasn’t that bad yet because I was still riding on the nerve blockers and other drugs they had given me, so the drive home wasn’t as terrible as it could have been. Don’t get me wrong, the drive home was still pretty terrible. Looking back, I’m really glad I was able to come home the same day of surgery, but I’m telling you what, it was a herculean effort on my bodies part. She was in rough shape.
The kids greeted me excitedly at the door wanting hugs, it was so hard to explain to them that they had to be gentle with mommy’s body. Everyone was feeling the tension of this really huge thing that had just happened and nobody knew how to act. The kids were emotional and I was emotional so I made the climb up the stairs to my loving bed and hunkered down for the evening.
We have 4 kids and they all needed a parent that night, so Chris needed to care for them after we got home. I needed help with everything. I couldn’t even take my underwear down so I could pee. My arms were so weak and the bandaging was so tight, every part of me was starting to hurt and I couldn’t walk without shaking. I was so helpless. Rebecca took on the task of caring for me from the moment I got home from surgery to the moment she left for the airport. It’s fuzzy to me but I’m pretty sure she stayed with us for 10 days. I’ll tell you more about her in another post, she deserves more than a mention. All of this to say, it’s very humbling to wake up a person who can sit on the toilet alone and then go to bed a person who can’t sit on the toilet without major help. Cancer is humbling.
I went to bed that night so well cared for. I was in a lot of pain and I didn’t sleep much, but I was home and that made things better. The days after this and my recovery were pretty rough but I’ll write more about that next.
There, I did it. I did something I didn’t want to do, I wrote about the day of my surgery. Thank you for reading it. Below is a laugh for all of us. I sent this image to my friends while we were waiting in the pre-op room and I thought it was comedic gold because I had to ruin my perfect breasts. I miss my real breasts, it’s a loss that I think about at least once a day so… it helps to laugh!
