Thursday at 10am I had a follow-up appointment with Dr. Singhal. I was carefully packaged (escorted into my seat) and wrapped (towels as padding from the seat-belt) in the car and driven to her office. It was time to evaluate how well I was healing. (Healing physically that is; the emotional and mental healing, well, a story for a different time.)
My entourage accompanied me. I felt a mix of semi-celebrity meets wimpy-patient as my crew of Anne, Cheryl and Craig helped me into Dr. Singhal's new, state of the art, very clean and sterile, exam room. I was put on the exam table while Craig took out a newspaper and had a seat. Anne and Cheryl stood over me, protecting me from any potential harm that might fall upon my chest. Dr. Singhal entered the room, cheery and bubbly as ever.
"Ouch, dang! I hate that damn light!" she exclaimed as she ducked and recovered from having hit her head on the overhanging exam light. "We could have had the track lighting, but that would have cost like $20,000 dollars and that's just wrong to spend that much money on a light." My doctor was so awesome. Cheryl laughed and admired the logic of Dr. Singhal.
The pink tube top was removed and I could breathe. At that moment I realized my life since Monday after surgery had been nothing short of miracle. I hadn't really taken a breath in four days; how was I still alive?! I wanted to suck in as much air as I could as I was finally, though temporarily, free from the constraint of that damn tube top. But it hurt too much to take deep breaths, so I continued with the shallow breathing technique I had mastered over recent days.
"Looks good. No infection. How are you doing on the pain medication?" Dr. Singhal asked. Someone briefed her on the events of the past few days. "Yeah, stick with the Ibuprofen if you can. That other stuff is really hard on the stomach. So, any questions right now for me?"
"Did you get it all?" I asked of her.
"Of course. That's my job," she replied. "But while we're on the subject..." Oh boy. This couldn't be good. My imagination took off. Maybe it had spread. Maybe they found I never had cancer and this was all a big oops. Maybe they forgot to put in the spacers for reconstruction. Brain, shut up. Focus on what the doctor has to say.
"The pathologist wants to confirm that there are, in fact, clear margins in one area. The upper quadrant of your right breast, under your armpit area. I'm pretty confident it's all clear. But, to be 100% certain and just to be safe, I have to go back in." (Go back in where? The office? The pathologist's lab?)
She continued, "Let's see, I'm going on vacation next week, so how about the sixteenth?"
I looked at my entourage. Heads were nodding. Whatever Dr. Singhal needed to do was what we were going to do. I realized to where it was she had to return. Surgery was scheduled for November 16th, 2009. So much for giving my incision(s) time to heal.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
22. Home Away From Home
The only good thing about recovering from major surgery (besides the obvious of being cancer free) was being able to stay in the warm, welcoming embrace and home of the Graham family. Ken and Anne, the in-laws of my dear friend Ann-Christel, graciously offered me their guest quarters for my recovery stay. (Their house was only minutes from the hospital and would be much more convenient for me than driving the two hours back to Sacramento the day after major surgery.) Anne's a nurse, but even more comforting to me, she's a mom and grandma. She made sure I had everything I could possibly need, including written instructions on how to operate the remote control for the television.
It was a luxury to be able to rest in a quiet and comfortable environment and not have to worry about the slightest thing. My sister, Cheryl, and Anne spent a great deal of time together, as I slept the majority of each day. They made meals, watched television, talked, and just hung out together. They bonded.
Together, they kept me in the lap of luxury. Well, as much luxury as one can expect to have when you're wearing a tube top & pajama bottoms, have drains hanging out of the sides of your chest and plastic containers (collecting the excess fluid) safety-pinned to your tube top and you spend your entire day in bed. Even so, I didn't want for a thing. They made sure I had my water bottle filled with ice water at all times (gotta wash those drugs outta your system). If I needed my pillow adjusted, they did it for me. Cheryl and Anne made sure I took my medications on schedule, several times each day. Anne watched over and helped Cheryl as she learned how to clean the drains and measure the excess fluid accumulation. They asked me repeatedly if I wanted anything to eat, but the thought of exerting any energy to even chew food sounded like too much effort for my weakened body. Ann-Christel came by to visit at one point and I think I fell asleep while she was talking to me. She graciously and kindly let me sleep. I was disappointed in myself because I desperately wanted to visit, talk, catch up on the years of our lives we had missed. Instead, I fell asleep.
Surgery had been on Monday and Tuesday afternoon I was sent home (Grahams') to recover. I wasn't feeling too terrible Tuesday evening, all that being relative of course. Anne warned me that the next day would be the worst. Not to anyone's surprise, she was right.
I had been prescribed Vicodin to help relieve my pain during recovery but was also given 800mg prescription Ibuprofen to take between the doses of Vicodin. Wednesday morning found me feeling somewhat better, though temporarily. Food sounded somewhat good. I joined the family at the dinner table and thought, hey, maybe I'm going to be okay and on the mend here. Woo hoo!
Two bites of mashed potatoes later, I gingerly yet as quickly as I could, excused myself to my guest quarters (fortunately just down the hallway). The two bites of food didn't stay with me long. Now, imagine the pain of heaving your recently-sliced-open-and-sewn-together chest as you throw up kneeling over a toilet. I would have cried, but that would have just hurt even more. Cheryl came in to check on me just as I was exiting the restroom to wash up. Anne followed moments later. Together, they helped me through the next wave of sickness - Cheryl holding my hair out of my face and Anne holding the bowl in front of me as I vomited again. Truly not one of my proudest moments. I apologized repeatedly for them having to be there through that experience and they both just comforted me with words of love and compassion. They understood there was absolutely nothing I could have done to change the course of events and that I was desperate for their help in getting through it. I begged Cheryl (as I did many, many times over the week) to make sure I was clean. She gave me sponge-baths as I sat in the chair in the bathroom. I was obsessed with being clean and did not want to smell badly. Aw, a sister's love and compassion are priceless.
Note to self: Vicodin sucks. Anne was the one who suggested that it could be the Vicodin taking its toll on my stomach. We elected to try switching just to the Ibuprofen from then on. Thankfully, that one episode of being sick was the only episode and the Ibuprofen worked well enough at keeping my pain at bay. I think I eventually managed a piece of toast and was full before finishing it.
Later that evening (perhaps the next day, I can't recall), Anne's daughter, Kate, came by to visit her parents. While Kate's nursing experience was with babies and critical heart conditions, drains were no stranger for her. She came right into the guest room and helped clean the drains hanging from my chest. It's an odd first introduction, I admit, but hell, sometimes you can't help when and where you meet wonderful people. And Kate, well, she's definitely good people!
These people didn't know me before all of this. They simply accepted me as their daughter-in-law's friend, knew I needed help and that was all they needed to know about me. They opened their home and hearts to a stranger and gave her the most incredible gift ... extended family.
I asked Cheryl to recap for me what she recalls about those days at the Graham's home. This is her email reply to me:
"You slept and watched TV and Anne and I talked in the living room. I played with the little grandson, I think his name was Parker? She told me about her dad's military service and that the medals on the wall were all his and that it represented a lot of sacrifice. We watched recorded episodes of Dancing with the Stars or So You Think You Can Dance. We talked and talked. I remember you were very sick from the meds and Craig and I went to the store to get you a lot of meds. He seemed worried. I held your hair while Anne held the bowl for you to throw up in. I had to wake you to take meds and kept track of them on my hand because otherwise I would have lost my record keeping. I was tired! Um, you ate dry toast one time. Anne told me that during difficult situations you can never change the wind, you can only adjust your sails. We would lay in bed together and watch TV during the day...if you fell asleep doing so, I would leave and go be with Anne. I washed your face and top part of your body so you'd feel clean (always a big thing with us isn't it?!) Um, what else...their home was beautiful and felt so homey to me. Even though we had never met them, I felt like we had known them all our lives and I remember loving that at such a difficult time. I loved being with them. Ken was amazing and I loved him instantly. He has remained on my mind ever since as being one of the classiest, kind, generous, genuine men I've EVER met. I adore him to this day. I feel the same about Anne. I remember their family dinners each night. They all talked and seemed like such a wonderful family. They made me feel so included and like I was part of the family."
Like I said, we were with family. I had gained an additional set of parents ... Anne and I chose Momca (Mom+California) and Ken, well, he's Dadca. I'm forever in their debt and gratitude. I strive to pay forward their kindness, if even only in a fraction of the magnitude they showed me.
It was a luxury to be able to rest in a quiet and comfortable environment and not have to worry about the slightest thing. My sister, Cheryl, and Anne spent a great deal of time together, as I slept the majority of each day. They made meals, watched television, talked, and just hung out together. They bonded.
Together, they kept me in the lap of luxury. Well, as much luxury as one can expect to have when you're wearing a tube top & pajama bottoms, have drains hanging out of the sides of your chest and plastic containers (collecting the excess fluid) safety-pinned to your tube top and you spend your entire day in bed. Even so, I didn't want for a thing. They made sure I had my water bottle filled with ice water at all times (gotta wash those drugs outta your system). If I needed my pillow adjusted, they did it for me. Cheryl and Anne made sure I took my medications on schedule, several times each day. Anne watched over and helped Cheryl as she learned how to clean the drains and measure the excess fluid accumulation. They asked me repeatedly if I wanted anything to eat, but the thought of exerting any energy to even chew food sounded like too much effort for my weakened body. Ann-Christel came by to visit at one point and I think I fell asleep while she was talking to me. She graciously and kindly let me sleep. I was disappointed in myself because I desperately wanted to visit, talk, catch up on the years of our lives we had missed. Instead, I fell asleep.
Surgery had been on Monday and Tuesday afternoon I was sent home (Grahams') to recover. I wasn't feeling too terrible Tuesday evening, all that being relative of course. Anne warned me that the next day would be the worst. Not to anyone's surprise, she was right.
I had been prescribed Vicodin to help relieve my pain during recovery but was also given 800mg prescription Ibuprofen to take between the doses of Vicodin. Wednesday morning found me feeling somewhat better, though temporarily. Food sounded somewhat good. I joined the family at the dinner table and thought, hey, maybe I'm going to be okay and on the mend here. Woo hoo!
Two bites of mashed potatoes later, I gingerly yet as quickly as I could, excused myself to my guest quarters (fortunately just down the hallway). The two bites of food didn't stay with me long. Now, imagine the pain of heaving your recently-sliced-open-and-sewn-together chest as you throw up kneeling over a toilet. I would have cried, but that would have just hurt even more. Cheryl came in to check on me just as I was exiting the restroom to wash up. Anne followed moments later. Together, they helped me through the next wave of sickness - Cheryl holding my hair out of my face and Anne holding the bowl in front of me as I vomited again. Truly not one of my proudest moments. I apologized repeatedly for them having to be there through that experience and they both just comforted me with words of love and compassion. They understood there was absolutely nothing I could have done to change the course of events and that I was desperate for their help in getting through it. I begged Cheryl (as I did many, many times over the week) to make sure I was clean. She gave me sponge-baths as I sat in the chair in the bathroom. I was obsessed with being clean and did not want to smell badly. Aw, a sister's love and compassion are priceless.
Note to self: Vicodin sucks. Anne was the one who suggested that it could be the Vicodin taking its toll on my stomach. We elected to try switching just to the Ibuprofen from then on. Thankfully, that one episode of being sick was the only episode and the Ibuprofen worked well enough at keeping my pain at bay. I think I eventually managed a piece of toast and was full before finishing it.
Later that evening (perhaps the next day, I can't recall), Anne's daughter, Kate, came by to visit her parents. While Kate's nursing experience was with babies and critical heart conditions, drains were no stranger for her. She came right into the guest room and helped clean the drains hanging from my chest. It's an odd first introduction, I admit, but hell, sometimes you can't help when and where you meet wonderful people. And Kate, well, she's definitely good people!
These people didn't know me before all of this. They simply accepted me as their daughter-in-law's friend, knew I needed help and that was all they needed to know about me. They opened their home and hearts to a stranger and gave her the most incredible gift ... extended family.
I asked Cheryl to recap for me what she recalls about those days at the Graham's home. This is her email reply to me:
"You slept and watched TV and Anne and I talked in the living room. I played with the little grandson, I think his name was Parker? She told me about her dad's military service and that the medals on the wall were all his and that it represented a lot of sacrifice. We watched recorded episodes of Dancing with the Stars or So You Think You Can Dance. We talked and talked. I remember you were very sick from the meds and Craig and I went to the store to get you a lot of meds. He seemed worried. I held your hair while Anne held the bowl for you to throw up in. I had to wake you to take meds and kept track of them on my hand because otherwise I would have lost my record keeping. I was tired! Um, you ate dry toast one time. Anne told me that during difficult situations you can never change the wind, you can only adjust your sails. We would lay in bed together and watch TV during the day...if you fell asleep doing so, I would leave and go be with Anne. I washed your face and top part of your body so you'd feel clean (always a big thing with us isn't it?!) Um, what else...their home was beautiful and felt so homey to me. Even though we had never met them, I felt like we had known them all our lives and I remember loving that at such a difficult time. I loved being with them. Ken was amazing and I loved him instantly. He has remained on my mind ever since as being one of the classiest, kind, generous, genuine men I've EVER met. I adore him to this day. I feel the same about Anne. I remember their family dinners each night. They all talked and seemed like such a wonderful family. They made me feel so included and like I was part of the family."
Like I said, we were with family. I had gained an additional set of parents ... Anne and I chose Momca (Mom+California) and Ken, well, he's Dadca. I'm forever in their debt and gratitude. I strive to pay forward their kindness, if even only in a fraction of the magnitude they showed me.
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