What Was SUPPOSED to Go Down:

• 6:45 front desk check-in
• pre-op check in, whole body wipes, gown, IV, vitals
• driven across the parking lot to the breast center for wire-guided localization
• driven back to Pre-Op for radioactive injection
• 10:00 am surgery
• 12:00 post-op and recovery
• 2:00 ish.. HOME!

The PRE-Wait 🙂

6:45 front desk check-in (so far, so good)

2nd floor pre-op secretary sent us back downstairs to the waiting room, “Wong… 10:00…Uhm.. we don’t have any beds right now, as soon as our 7:30 patients go in, we will call you up.” That little voice in my head thought perhaps I should let them know I was a breast patient, but this wasn’t their first rodeo so I kept my mouth shut.

Neither of us could sit, so we wandered around past the beautiful Zen Garden, a huge water fountain, the cafeteria, and back to an artistically styled tribute to all hospital donors. I took the time to read each and every name.. not just the ones that donated 1 million or more. I thanked each and every one of them.. because of them, I was standing in a beautiful new wing of the hospital and had a confidence knowing there was up-to-date technology and equipment. The names who touched me most… the hospital staff that donated one day’s pay per month for three years. Woah. Seriously? The nurses and other employees giving up that much.. for me? H U M B L I N G! I want to send them each a Mahalo card. One name particularly… Claudia Davis… my breast health navigator. How could this woman give any more?

We finally sat down near a 45″ monitor that had the color coded status of each patient  (first two letters of the first and last name with birth month and day ex: dawo0723. Tom said, “Maybe I will call you DahWoo now!”) registered, pre-op, op, post-op, closed. How GENIUS is that? I can’t imagine how much the front desk secretaries could actually accomplish without people bugging them every 30 seconds.

The teacher in me couldn’t stand the MESS of brochures in the twirling plexiglass stand, so I took them all out and proceeded to sort them by topic and language. I was almost done when my name was finally called.. around 8:00.

When we arrived again in pre-op, we could hear our nurse apologizing profusely to Claudia. There was some confusion that morning, as well as one of their phone lines wasn’t working. They chatted what seemed like a plan B and Tom and I took the open bed bay #10.

We were given six body wipes to use the night before from neck to toes. Six more used and into the sassy, green gown. My vitals taken (argh, high blood pressure again.. that makes over a year of hearing that. We have new patient appointments for a new primary care in November). IV.. wasn’t too bad.

And then.. the socks!

Alone again and my precious husband and I couldn’t stop giggling. Tom has always been so playful and it’s one of the things that made me fall in love with him. We opened the hospital socks and busted up laughing. “Who do they think their patient is.. Big Foot?” heheh ehe “Uhm, excuse me.. could you please find another pair of socks for my wife?” Giggling some more he texted my Warrior (and tiny friend) Lisa, “Hey Lisa.. bet your hospital bed fit you better.” eh ehee

The nurse came back in and we thought we would get reprimanded for having too much fun. Instead she informed us that rather than the guided wire, we would be going downstairs for a different procedure that was less invasive. The first thought that flashed through my mind was that Dr. Dunham was NOT going to like this. He is very logical, thorough, and I bet systematic. I told Tom that I bet he was not the one who ordered that, and that he does NOT like change… especially last minute like this.

She closed the curtain only half-way and I could hear, “mumble, mumble, Claudia, mumble, mumble, Dr. Dunham, mumble” We weren’t sure what was going down.. but the tone didn’t sound good. I saw doctor and Claudia, but neither came in to tell us what was going on.

Insurance

Our nurse came back in and had me initial a modification on all my forms which originally read… “Partial mastectomy (removal of cancer and surrounding breast tissue), sentinel node biopsy (the first few lymph nodes surgically removed…the pathology reports would tell us if the cancer had drained into the lymphatic system) , and possible mastopexy (essentially a breast lift)”

Insurance denied possible mastopexy (of course.. no shock there) so we re-signed everything.

Doctor came in and over to me to say hi, and apologize for my long wait… and I now know him well enough to call him out,

“Doc, I can tell that you are trying to be sweet but inside you are mad as hell and battling for me. What’s going on?”

Apparently the first paragraph of the insurance forms gave approval for procedures; however, the second paragraph said that it did not guarantee payment. He was furious and needed to vent. How lucky am I? Seriously? How did I get this amazing person who already went to bat with insurance over approving my MRI, and now sits on the phone  going ’round and ’round with our insurance company when we should already be in surgery? I am so very blessed.

After our discussion about how delightful (NOT) insurance is to work with, and with a genuine smile, he said I was now going downstairs to do the wire-guided localization as he had ORIGINALLY planned and things would move quickly and into surgery from there.

Radiology

Imagine this.. a big girl with her ‘IV hospital Gatorade’ on her wheelchaired lap, being pushed by a teeny-tiny older woman, alongside the cutest man in the world…carrying his backpack full of snacks he hadn’t yet had the chance to snarf, and his iPad he hadn’t yet had the chance to read the Honolulu Star-Advertiser , San Francisco Chronicle, and the Napa Valley Register for his daily diet of news and sports. Down the looooong hall, down the elevator to the basement, and finally into radiology we went, dropping Tom off in that waiting room.

Claudia was there with a sweet, young radiology tech. Eye-level from my wheelchair, I tried not to eye down all the needles and tools on the counter. laying on my right side towards the ultrasound, then my left shoulder back on the bed and my left hand tucked under my hip…the tech began pushing and rolling to find the clip (minuscule breast cancer ribbon left behind as a marker after a biopsy for this EXACT reason. It identifies specifically where the biopsy was taken to assist in surgical removal of the cancerous breast tissue). This.. I could feel and it was indeed uncomfortable. I can’t say it was painful.. but it wasn’t fun either. She snapped a few pictures and the radiologist viewed them from a different room.

A short wait and the doctor shared with me exactly what was going to happen. He was going to insert a wire directly into the middle of the lesion where the clip was. He would leave the wire sticking out of my breast, which would be gently covered up until surgery. I closed my eyes and tried to think of my workouts at the gym. I counted out reps and sets, but was unable to focus as I had done during my first biopsy. My hips started to hurt.. in this position for a little while, I needed a pillow between my knees. I took a deep breath and decided to embrace the feeling. I used the ache in my hips to distract me from the numbing needles inserted first around the breast tissue, then a moment later, inserted deeper within the tissue around the lesion.

Eckard Tolle! I remembered a quote..

.. and so.. while he twisted the wire within me.. while he used his strength to push hard.. I breathed deeply and felt the aliveness in my fingertips, my toes, my aching hips, Claudia’s hand on mine, her other on my ankle, and the numbed sensation of this procedure.

Radioactive Ion Injection

Wheeled around the corner to get my injection around the nipple, the nurse before me was a friend from paddling! Hadn’t cried yet.. until now. “I just want to paddle again.” I knew that SHE would understand.. truly understand. She assured me that I would, and said unfortunately I wasn’t the first from our paddling community to have breast cancer. She said those women were praying for me.. and she was sending lots of love. She relayed the same thing almost everyone says to me.. the same thing I’ve said to those in my past battling cancer, “You are strong! You WILL get through this.” Tears now slowly rolling not from the shot she gave, nor her words of encouragement that I still have yet to connect with. I just wanted to know when I can paddle again.

The secretary came to check on me and reminded the nurses that Tom was still waiting patiently outside.. but wondered where I was. Claudia went out to give him a large pink bag with a soft, pink blanket, and hand-stitched pillows to help with post-op comfort from a survivor in the support group. My paddling friend also followed my wheelchair escort out to hug Tom and give him love and strength.

OFFICIAL Pre-op!

Back up to the new wing, 2nd floor, bay 10. Tom by my side. I was growing tired, and I could tell he needed to eat.

Doctor came in to review again what was going to happen. It would take a little while because after the sentinel lobe biopsy, all the equipment had to be removed, and different tools set up for essentially an entirely different surgery of the lumpectomy.

The anesthesiologist came in to tell me exactly was going to happen. In the OR he would give me a little bit in my IV just to make me relax. “A couple of beers!” I shared that’s what my knee surgery anesthesiologist called it. “Yes, ok.. a couple of beers.” He then would put me to sleep and place a device between my teeth to assist with me breathing on my own during surgery.

The OR nurse came in.. cute as a bug.. a nurse for 45 years! She asked Tom if he wanted to hug me one last time before I went in. I reassured him I would be ok.. and see him soon! “Now go eat!” It was 12:22. (significance explained in a later blog)

The Operating Room

HOLY SHIT! This operation is NO JOKE! Was this finally hitting me? I’m not having a little procedure done….apparently.

The room was huge and full of lights, technology, medical equipment, devices, monitors, materials, products, a few nurses, and a great sound system with oldies playing. My nurse helped move me onto the operating table and fluffed pillows behind my head. I looked at each thing (don’t tell my 6th graders I used such a general, boring word as they are not allowed to use it in their writing. I just wouldn’t know the medical vocabulary to say anything else), and thought about each person who at one time came up with a great idea and then FOLLOWED THROUGH with and invented it. Now.. these.. ‘things’ are all here to help my doctors help me. Thank you, unknown people. You rock! My nurse told me I was lucky as this was the room where they usually did heart surgery. I thought of my friend’s husband who must’ve been right here a few months ago.. his life saved by their hands and this same equipment.

My anesthesiologists (can’t remember his name for the life of me..) asked me if I had any children. “My oldest son just made us grandparents for the first time!”

“AAaahhhhhhh how sweet!!!!” in surround sound.. there were more nurses in here than I realized. “They both serve in the Air Force.” Well, you can tell them that I retired from the Air Force as an F-15 fighter jet pilot. After that, I went to medical school on their dime and here I am. Ok, here is some oxygen for you.”

Recovery.. well we tried!

I remember waking up and zoning out. Pain started to come, and so did some tears. A very sweet nurse gave me some pain meds, then attended to the lady beside me who must’ve been hurting far worse than me, by her moans. She came back to give me another dose, and what seemed like moments later, she and doctor came to see me. I couldn’t stop the tears.. it hurt. It was real. Being grateful and positive didn’t change these things. I told him not to get Tom.. I didn’t want him to see me until we had the pain under control. The nurse gave me a different medication and the pain finally dissipated. Doctor came by shortly after and said he was going to get Tom.

Both Tom and nausea came simultaneously. A tiny bite of graham cracker and a sip of ginger ale. Nope.. it came back up.

And then… the tears. Tom wiped them from my face, and told me it was ok to cry. The nurse came back and asked if I was in pain. “No. no. I haven’t yet cried through this entire process.” Her sweet eyes weld up and matched Tom’s as they told me that now was the time. She left and pulled the curtain fully around us. As he held my left hand, I held tissue to my face and cried. Not just tears this time… I cried. Tom cried with me.

I have breast cancer.

An Escape.. Finally.

Changed into my clothes, a bite of Saltines this time, another sip of ginger ale (eew) and a trip to go shi-shi. Tom with his backpack on, carried my hospital gatorade.. isn’t he the best? Straight to the wheelchair to make our escape.. uh-oh.. back up came the lil bite I had, so back to the bed and more IV meds and hydration.

Shift change. I was finally ready. The new nurse unhooked me from the tangle, Tom put his backpack back on, and she wheeled us downstairs. Looking at the back of my hoodie she asked if we paddled or rowed and was it here in Napa. Both of us got excited sharing all about Ohana Wa`a. She shared that she just moved here last week from back east and was alone, and she would definitely look us up and come try it out.

“Now is a perfect time to try as we just finished our race season. You will LOVE it, and we have such a tight-knit family of amazing people. You will not only have fun, but have an instant support system here as well.”

As Tom drove us out of the parking lot I said aloud. “You know what Babe? You never know.. this whole thing could be because of this one girl. She was supposed to meet us.”

“Maybe, Honey.. you never know.”