The day after the twin's birthday was a Saturday. I had to wait the weekend before meeting with the surgeon and I had to wait all day to talk about what was going on with my husband. I didn't dare speak of it in front of our girls. I didn't want them to know anything until after the biopsy. I didn't want to have to explain everything and then it be for nothing if the biopsy was negative and it was obviously still too close to the twin's birthday.
I had nothing to do. The party was over and I had nothing to focus on. It was like torture just waiting in silence.
Finally Monday came and I met with the surgeon. I had to take off of work again for this appointment. Thank the Lord my manager is a Saint. I didn't care for the surgeon. He had removed my gall bladder in 2003 and had little bedside manner. I did know that he was a good surgeon tho and didn't really care to look around at this point. He felt around my neck and my armpit, told me he'd take the biopsy from the armpit because the neck was too risky, being wrapped around that artery. He told me if the armpit was negative, they would have to go back and do another biopsy on the neck. We scheduled the biopsy for February 5th - just three days later.
I had nothing to do. The party was over and I had nothing to focus on. It was like torture just waiting in silence.
Finally Monday came and I met with the surgeon. I had to take off of work again for this appointment. Thank the Lord my manager is a Saint. I didn't care for the surgeon. He had removed my gall bladder in 2003 and had little bedside manner. I did know that he was a good surgeon tho and didn't really care to look around at this point. He felt around my neck and my armpit, told me he'd take the biopsy from the armpit because the neck was too risky, being wrapped around that artery. He told me if the armpit was negative, they would have to go back and do another biopsy on the neck. We scheduled the biopsy for February 5th - just three days later.
Tuesday February 3, 2009 I had the CT of my chest, abdomen, and pelvis. That was weird...they injected a dye into me that made me feel like I was peeing. It was a quick procedure and I was glad for that.
Things were moving along, but in slow-motion. Everything was spinning around me so fast, but not fast enough. I wanted this over. I wanted the results. I wanted to know my fate. I wanted to know why this happened to me - how this happened to me.
Thursday came, and we went to St. Francis Hospital early. The nurses were very nice, explaining everything. I was going to have "Mack Anesthesia". I would be awake, but I wouldn't know it. Afterwards doctor would come talk to my husband and give him instructions. I also gave my husband instructions - NO Vicodin! That stuff makes me feel like I'm out of my mind!
They rolled me away and I was strong and confident. Everyone was very nice...even that lady who told me no more tattoos and insinuated they caused my cancer. People are so ignorant sometimes. The anesthesiologist was especially sweet and held my hand and I slowly fell into the Mack. The surgeon cut into me and I felt every bit of it. I woke up, tears pouring down my face into my ears, only able to moan "owwwwwww". Everyone in shock and rushing to get me back "under", wiping my tears, holding my hand but I couldn't stop my mind from panicking. And then everything went dark. I remember feeling a sense of relief as it did. They started cutting me again and again the tears rolled down my face and I moaned and everything stopped. This time I was able to choke out "It hurts". This time I really had to reach deep not to go into a complete meltdown. There was more scuffling, more tear wiping, more talking calmly to me, more handholding, and finally everything went black again.
It was over and they brought me back to. They showed me the piece of lymph node they removed. It was like the flavor egg in Mrs. Grass soup, only white and black in the middle. They rolled me back to my room and I couldn't stop crying. I didn't sob, but tears would not stop pouring out of my face and I couldn't bring myself to speak to tell my husband or the nurses about my horrible experience.
My husband knew nothing because he "couldn't understand the doctor" and of coarse, Vicodin was the doctor's choice of pain medication. The nurses called the surgeon and he said to just take ibuprofen - fine by me...until all my meds wore off.
The next day I was in so much pain and of coarse the surgeon was off. I talked to the covering surgeon who told me to go do the ER if I was in pain. I called my doctor's office and they prescribed me some good old fashioned percocets. I was thankful that I had taken this day off of work too. I kept wondering why no one could ever just listen to me and give me what I wanted. Why I had to call all over tarnation to get a pain pill when I just had surgery. And a small rage was born inside me about the subject, only to be fueled by looking back over my experiences and a gift from my good friend Brigitte - the book "Everything Changes The Insider's Guide to Cancer in Your 20's and 30's" by Kairol Rosenthal.
Things were moving along, but in slow-motion. Everything was spinning around me so fast, but not fast enough. I wanted this over. I wanted the results. I wanted to know my fate. I wanted to know why this happened to me - how this happened to me.
Thursday came, and we went to St. Francis Hospital early. The nurses were very nice, explaining everything. I was going to have "Mack Anesthesia". I would be awake, but I wouldn't know it. Afterwards doctor would come talk to my husband and give him instructions. I also gave my husband instructions - NO Vicodin! That stuff makes me feel like I'm out of my mind!
They rolled me away and I was strong and confident. Everyone was very nice...even that lady who told me no more tattoos and insinuated they caused my cancer. People are so ignorant sometimes. The anesthesiologist was especially sweet and held my hand and I slowly fell into the Mack. The surgeon cut into me and I felt every bit of it. I woke up, tears pouring down my face into my ears, only able to moan "owwwwwww". Everyone in shock and rushing to get me back "under", wiping my tears, holding my hand but I couldn't stop my mind from panicking. And then everything went dark. I remember feeling a sense of relief as it did. They started cutting me again and again the tears rolled down my face and I moaned and everything stopped. This time I was able to choke out "It hurts". This time I really had to reach deep not to go into a complete meltdown. There was more scuffling, more tear wiping, more talking calmly to me, more handholding, and finally everything went black again.
It was over and they brought me back to. They showed me the piece of lymph node they removed. It was like the flavor egg in Mrs. Grass soup, only white and black in the middle. They rolled me back to my room and I couldn't stop crying. I didn't sob, but tears would not stop pouring out of my face and I couldn't bring myself to speak to tell my husband or the nurses about my horrible experience.
My husband knew nothing because he "couldn't understand the doctor" and of coarse, Vicodin was the doctor's choice of pain medication. The nurses called the surgeon and he said to just take ibuprofen - fine by me...until all my meds wore off.
The next day I was in so much pain and of coarse the surgeon was off. I talked to the covering surgeon who told me to go do the ER if I was in pain. I called my doctor's office and they prescribed me some good old fashioned percocets. I was thankful that I had taken this day off of work too. I kept wondering why no one could ever just listen to me and give me what I wanted. Why I had to call all over tarnation to get a pain pill when I just had surgery. And a small rage was born inside me about the subject, only to be fueled by looking back over my experiences and a gift from my good friend Brigitte - the book "Everything Changes The Insider's Guide to Cancer in Your 20's and 30's" by Kairol Rosenthal.
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