Game Day

Yesterday was game day. Tuesday. December 5th.

I slept like crap. In my dreams, I couldn’t find where I was supposed to check-in. And for some reason, the parts of the hospital were scattered throughout the mall. Dream analysis, anyone? I’d rather buy jeans than get my boob cut open? Maybe.

We left at 4:30 a.m. to head to the hospital, and as we were trying to turn left to get on the highway (the fast road as my kids have always called it), the left arrow would not turn green. So of course, my mind races. Is the universe telling me to stop? Don’t go that way? The law-abiding citizens that we are, we sat at that light for like 10 minutes! Still red, so we had to go. Law breakers. Hopefully that’s not a bad karma thing. Ugh.

We arrived, walked through a very fancy, palm-tree lined and very festively decorated lobby toward admissions. Once admitted, we headed upstairs. I caught a brief glance at the cast of characters Frank would be spending his day with before they called my name. Go time.

I changed into my green gown and yellow socks, cried a little, and then settled into the bed I’d be in for the next 7 hours. I was poked and prodded, met like 20 people who’d be helping in some way or another, opted for the nerve block numbing, which is still helping my pain a bit. Frank was able to come back and hang out for a little while before they wheeled me out.

I thought I’d be asleep before they took me into the OR, but I wasn’t. However, when it’s go time, it’s go time. My surgeon said, “Well, we’re here. We made it! It’s the day!” Everyone moved quickly to get me situated, the anesthesiologist hooked me up, and then I lost 4 hours of my conscious life.

I woke up in a different, darkened room. They let me sleep a little longer until I was moved to the final post-op room. I say room, but it’s just a curtained off space. 

In the morning, the anesthesiologist told Frank I’d probably be acting loopy, like I had a couple cocktails. Well, they must’ve been kiddie cocktails. Can I still send these back to the bar and get the kind that’ll pack a punch? In post-op, I had no meds, and I was fully lucid. 

I should’ve followed the guy’s lead in the curtained off space next to me and begged for more. Rookie mistake. 

After waiting extra long for my meds to be transferred to the hospital’s pharmacy, and by the time I was wheeled out to the car, I was in excruciating pain. I felt every bump in that wheelchair! I clutched my pillow and cried the whole way home.

I had about 10 minutes to pull myself together to see Timothy, which I did. Then my dad graciously picked up Lillian and took them to Target for a while. 

Now, I’ll begin recovery one day at a time, and hopefully each day I’ll feel better than the last. It’s still going to be a long breast cancer journey, but the outpouring of love and support I’m receiving is definitely pushing me along.

And universe, I figure my post-op experience means we’re even for running that red arrow.