Under The Knife…

My first surgical appointment was barely three days after the ultrasound, with its subsequent biopsy and unsettling report. As anxious as I was to find out more about my new diagnosis, I also wanted this malady out of my body, at least the part we knew for sure was there. The thought that there could be more gnawed at me, but first things first.

The surgeon I consulted is exclusively a breast surgeon, and well respected in the medical community.  I had never met him, but he quickly put me at ease by providing a sense of normalcy with his “I’ve got this” manner.  Another report had trickled in labeling the tumor as “somewhat aggressive,” but still he was reassuring, and told me that patients with much worse reports were living productive healthy lives now. It helped, and I left with the sense that my case was something he would tackle with ease.

By another stroke of luck, the surgery was scheduled for the following morning, so I had little time to prepare. Aside from being NPO (nothing by mouth) after midnight, there is technically nothing to prepare other than to show up.

I was there before the surgical center opened, and before the sun rose. Anesthesia is one of my least favorite things, if not a full blown phobia. I think I remember every anesthesiologist that has ever put me under, and I always fretted a bit about what would happen if the anesthesiologist left the room, the machines failed, or someone drew up the wrong medication, etc, etc.

It’s not as if a pre-op area is new to me, but every time I set foot in one, I notice the starkness, the abrasive scents of antiseptics, clatter of machinery, and the rumble of gurneys being pushed through mechanical doors. In spite of HIPPA regulations, I hear more than I want about my fellow patients concerns. Some of what I hear reminds me to be grateful. Still, this is a lonely place to be, because no one else can do this for you.

I am given a plastic bag for my sparse belongings, a dreary hospital gown and hideous socks that have slip proof rubber strips along the soles. A warm blanket soothes my frayed nerves until a cheerful, bright eyed woman appears at my side, introducing herself as my anesthesiologist.

She was great, and had the same reasuring quality my surgeon has. In addition, I took note that she had actually read my medical record, and knew that I had respiratory problems as well as an immune compromise.

The anesthetic drugs she told me she would be using are quite routine, but having a dislike for anything that would put me out, she took the time to talk me through those too. Diprovan or Propofol is the drug brought to media attention because Michael Jackson used it as a sleep remedy, and overdosed, but under the vigilant eye of an anesthesiologist, it is quite safe, and used for many outpatient procedures, even colonoscopies. A benefit is that the patient wakes up alert, and without nausea or any other discomfort.

Versed is a premedication used prior to Diprovan. It is an amnesic as well, so as I watch the anesthesiologist push the plunger of the syringe and the medication seeps into my IV tubing, I remember nothing until the surgeon is standing over me.

“It went well,”he said, “but..”

What? It can’t be over already, but it is, and I remember nothing. But, what did he mean by, “It went well, but…?” What he told me was that the tumor was removed along with five lymphnodes from my axilla. Preliminary testing indcated that three were positive, so there is a metastesis, meaning, the cancer has spread.

So, the plot thickens…… This is a story I don’t want to be in.

To read more about metastatic cancer, go to  Cancer Treatment Centers of America at www.cancercenter.com or the American Cancer Society at www.cancer.org

For surgical Newbies:

What I brought with me to outpatient surgery:

As little as possible! An ID, cell phone, one credit card, something really good to read, coconut water and crackers for later…just in case.

Next Entry: September 26th, 2016