Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Surgery #2, the low down


Well, the good news is that I didn't faint. Thank god I didn't need those awful guide wires this time- I was so anxious today that had I needed them, I surely would've fainted again, I know it.
Fortunately, because I didn't need the wires, I didn't have to get to the hospital at 6 AM, I could roll in a leisurely 1pm. I really considered again riding my bike there, especially since it was 50 degrees, but I acquiesced to sense and logic. When did I start doing that?
Arrived on time, very very nervous. It seems sometime last week I exhausted my supply of strength and mental fortitude. As each day passed, I found myself more anxious. I always had that slight cry feeling in the back of my throat- I could cry at a moment's notice, whether from fear, sentiments of love, whatever.
Saturday, I had to indulge it. I cried all day. And I don't mean that in some poetic cried-myself-to-sleep way, I mean I cried all day. I found I couldn't stop myself, even when I wanted to. I had to send Matt and Gray away because I didn't want Gray seeing me so sad for so long. I tried to take a shower to break the cycle. Instead I found myself laying down in the tub, crying, and praying to God, to Menla (the medicine Buddha), to the universe to heal me. Actually it was more like begging. It was pitiful, but I needed to just get it out.

I heard a saying once, "In order to rebuild, we must deconstruct". In some way I feel Saturday I was deconstructed. I cried out of fear, I cried out a self-pity, I cried out of pure release, I cried out of anger, I cried in anticipation of the pain, I cried at the injustice, I cried at the profound impact this has had on my life. Though my first surgery was weeks ago, I still have trouble with Gray being close to me- five year olds are all elbows and knees, and though my waking movements were comfortable enough, the spastic nature of my child has meant keeping Gray from getting too close. That's freaking profound- a child belongs next to a mother's breast, not at arm's length. So, I cried about that too.

Today was relatively uneventful. Got to the hospital, had some blood tests, went to the Center for Ambulatory Surgery, got signed in, changed, answered the same 10 questions 8 times- are you allergic to medications, have you eaten today, do you have a living will, would you refuse a blood transfusion.

I met with the surgeon, it was good to see him again. He had an intern with him this time. The anaesthesiologist came to talk, I think she was a Lilliputian. I've never seen such a tiny half woman. Why are anaesthesiologists so physically diverse?!

This time I was given a choice to walk to the OR or ride in a wheel chair. I walked damnit. I even skipped once or twice. Entering the OR didn't scare me this time- I knew to expect the death-chamber bed and autopsy lights. Seeing Dr. Davidson waiting for me with that clear mask covering his face was a little off-putting, was he expecting me to be a bleeder?

I laid down, got the IV in my hand, was covered in many toasty warm blankets, and went night night as I meditated and received all the healing energy being sent to me- thanks everyone! You did good work!

I woke up from the twilight sleep crying. Long streaming tears falling to my neck. I don't know why that happened, but it did. They brought me to my momma, I talked with the surgeon for a bit, ate a little and got dressed to go home. Took a few percoset and here I am, snugly warm in my new ultra soft sweatpants, eating strawberries, and about to go back to bed.

Arif came to visit me today too- all the way from across the world and this awesome kitty!
It was so cool to get so many emails, texts, voicemails, and visits. Wow. At one point today, my table was full of bags of groceries people brought- hot soup, organic carrots, strawberries, decadent chocolate thingys.

I'm set with a library of movies, a kitchen of yum, and a cleared schedule for sleeping. Also a knowledge that there are doctors in the country, specifically one in California, treating DCIS without radiation. And though my surgeon doesn't recommend me forgoing it (my mom let the cat out of the bag, I wasn't going to tell him), it's being done.

I love you- everyone who has given me their strength, their healing, their love, their offers of help, I love you in the most profound, humble way. I have never felt alone or unsupported for any one second of all this and I am grateful beyond measure. Onward to healing!

8 comments:

Momma said...

Hi Baby Girl. I love you so much. You've been so brave. I'm truly in awe of the magnificent woman you are! Rest. Heal. Love.

Jenni said...

MOOOOMM. Today is not a crying day. Knock it off!!!!

Mike said...

So glad to hear everything went well. Now, get well soon. You have lots of Livestrong funds to raise if you want to outdo me. :-)

Jenni said...

Mike! Hmm, I'll have to follow you now. I'll have to infiltrate your donation base and sway people to my page. I will employ all my techniques of mind control. I will leave you a sobbing blob of a man. And I will do so with a smile on my face.
Mwhahahaha.

Anonymous said...

JENNI

YOU ARE AN UNBELIEVEABLY STRONG WOMAN. You amaze me. I had 2 very sick kids this week - and a out-of-town girlfriend who is very sick (long story). i just read your recount of the surgery.

I don't know anyone who can indure - and express all the emotions like you.

I really look up to you.

MARIA

Mike said...

That sounds a little too much like my Ex. Ha!

Alright my Northeastern Sista - Game on! Oh and when I walk away with that wheelset that Fatty is giving away I'll send you a pic of what Mwhahahaha looks like. :-)

Jenni said...

Doh! I am not competing for the wheels. But I will compete for fundraising. Send me your link?

I hope you hit the ground running my friend because I'm already up to $5.00. That's right.

Mike said...

Oh no, you're right, this IS about the fundraising. Haven't you heard the old sayings about things being bigger in Texas? Same goes for helping charities!
Here's my link: http://austin09.livestrong.org/mjschlei