Yesterday was surgery day, the day I'd been waiting for since early December. The temperature was 2.6 degrees at 7:15 as we left the house and the sea smoke on the Back Cove was gorgeous. The sun was shining through it and slowly burning it off. If we didn't have an important appointment I would have stopped to take a picture since it is a fairly rare event. It happens when the air temperature is colder than the water and actually makes it steam. Pretty cool, huh? I took it as an omen that the day itself would be pretty special...in a good way...and I was right!
First stop was the Breast Care Center in Scarborough, by now a familiar place to Brendan and myself. I remarked that the car could probably get there on autopilot after all the trips we had made. After a short wait, I was brought back to the ultrasound room where Katelyn, a personable young med tech applied the [thankfully] warm gel and used her magic ultrasound wand to locate the two titanium clips that had been implanted at the tumor sites in December. One of the clips had tried to be sneaky and hide amidst the mass but she wasn't fooled. Next, Dr. Edwards, the radiologist arrived to implant two radioactive seeds at the sites to mark their location and, through my lympatic system, lead Dr. Teller, my surgeon to the sentinel nodes, the first place the cancer would travel to if it was so inclined. It was a quick process and we chatted as I watched the probe on the monitor approach the ominous masses that looked like monsters from outer space. I said, "Die, you bastards" and we all burst out laughing. Next came the activation, four injections near the sites to trigger the seeds and set them on their journey, leaving their telltale path for the surgeon to follow later. Then it was a [thankfully] quick mammogram to ensure everything was in place and we were off to the surgical center, a short distance down the road.
From the moment we arrived I felt comfortable and confident. The facility is bright and cheery and Claire, the receptionist couldn't have been nicer. She seemed to sense that it was Brendan that was feeling the weight of the day a little heavier so she concentrated on putting him at ease. After a very short wait, we were led back to my prep room where I changed into one of those ever fashionable hospital gowns. (Sidenote: while functional, they are ugly as sin...couldn't SOMEONE come up with a style a little more flattering?) I knew we were in for a bit of a wait so I took out my knitting...poor Brendan has been waiting for these socks for months. The wait was actually very short and in came a parade of nurses, techs, doctors, unicorns (ok, no unicorns) to ask questions, check vitals, bring warm blankets, ask more questions, give me pain pills (they called it early intervention...fabulous idea!), and finally, insert an IV in my hand. No more knitting after that. Dr. Teller came in, as well as the Anesthesiologist and we knew we were getting close. The lone male of the team, Ben, a surgical resident came in to introduce himself. It was a regular party in my little room. All we were missing was the beer and pretzels. The final step: that oh-so-flattering shower cap...I was styling, for sure!
At a little past eleven it was time to go. Brendan saw me off with a kiss for luck and headed home. I was rolled into the deep freeze Operating Room where it seemed as if a dozen people were waiting for me. I mentioned being able to see my breath and they assured me they would warm me up, which they did. The team went into action: special massaging socks to keep my lower legs warm and blood circulating (where can I get a pair of those!?), a high-tech electric blanket, and the last thing I remember, an oxygen mask and a soothing voice telling me to take a couple of deep breaths. I didn't even have to count backwards from 100 (I was planning to sing 99 beers on the wall but never got to it!)
Four hours later, I was slowly rising to consciousness in a room similar to where I started. I heard Brendan's voice in the hallway and his face floated into view. He told me that they had removed the two malignant masses and three lymph nodes. Pathology will examine all of them and Dr. Teller will call me on Friday with results. A few saltines and some water never tasted so good. Eventually, the leg massagers and IV needle were removed and I could get dressed (with Brendan's assistance). We got post-op instructions which, thankfully, were duplicated on paper since my brain still felt like a bowl of jell-o.
Meanwhile, Social Media was a busy beehive with Heart, Prayer and Thumbs Up emojis, and the consistent message "You've Got This"...wouldn't that make a perfect tattoo across my chest? OK, maybe not but the spirit of it came through loud and strong. I clearly felt all of the love and encouragement expressed by so many family and friends. You lifted my spirits and reinforced my resolve to become cancer-free. I am so deeply grateful to each and every one of you who have my back in this battle!
Today I feel remarkably strong and ready for the next phase. I've got cancer on the run and I aim to make sure it stays there. I want it made clear that it messed with the wrong person!!
Next is a post-op visit on February 6 and then the radiation cycle: three weeks of daily treatments to seal the deal and stamp it out for good...like grinding my heel in its face... such satisfaction.
This was an unexpected journey, and not a particularly welcome one, but I aim to make it a short trip and get back to my normal routine in short order. If cancer has other plans, too bad...I have an amazing army to back me up and it's a powerful force, to be sure!
Oh, and don't forget gals, GET THOSE MAMMOGRAMS...THEY SAVE LIVES!!!!
