It’s done. I’ve been sucked, tucked and schmoozled one more time. (That sounds so gross, but I’m leaving it) I’m sore, no doubt about that. But happy, really happy. I can’t believe technology is such today that they can suck fat from one place to donate to another, but they’ve done it three times to me and it’s working like a charm. I just might like my body more now than I did before cancer.
When I went in to surgery we hand a little snafu. When I checked in the receptionist asked if my birthday was 2/2/71 and I said, no 12/2/71. So then when I signed the paperwork I noticed it had me listed as 39. So when I got back to Jeremy I had him reassure me I was only 38. Then I said to the woman who took my back for pre-op that I was only 38. I wanted her to know this NOT because I thought it was important other than I WANT TO BE 38 and not 39. I just do. I will relish in 38 as long as possible. But here’s the funny, or not so funny part about it. They still had my birthday wrong. And I’m really telling you this because at Northwestern, they really areprofessional. I’ve never had a bad experience with anyone. They all try to make you as comfortable as possible. But they also DO EVERYTHING by the book, which means, right after we got to the operating room and they had given me my first dose of happy medicine, they realized my birthday was wrong. This is a very big conundrum for them. Because once I’ve had drugs I can’t sign for myself and Jeremy had already left with Charis for American Girl and the ferris wheel on Navy Pier. So for a few minutes I thought I was not going to have surgery. Everyone was rushing around trying to get ahold of Jeremy. I heard a lawyer out talking to the nurses. Dr. D was reassuring them he knew me and was my patient, but they needed risk management there, so I knew even he wasn’t going to talk them in to budging. Finally Jeremy answered his phone and rushed over, and surgery…..
And that’s all I remember.
When I came out of my groggyness I had to pee so bad I cried. I couldn’t pee. It was a horrible feeling. To be half drugged, in horrible pain and to feel like you’re going to pee your pants. You’d cry too.
They had put these compression pants on me, which are so sad I can’t even describe them to you but considering they were on when I was trying to pee, you can just imagine them. So my nurse graciously offered to take them off for me. What do you know. I pee’d. I have NEVER felt such relief in my life. OK, I’m exaggerating a little. But I was crying on the pot, that’s how upsetting it was to me under all that anesthesia.
I then stumbled back to my room to listen to two very loud, very interesting patients in the next room. Take note people, when you talk loud in hospital rooms that are separated by curtains, EVERYBODY can hear your business. EVERYBODY! I shouldn’t tell you this, but since I don’t know who these people are I will tell you their stories:
Lady1: Had no idea what medicine she had taken and when but she had a lot of them. I won’t even tell you what illness she had, but she talked very loud. Then after not being able to remember all the medicine she was on and forgetting to take half of them she asked the doctor how to get a residency at Northwestern and if she could work full-time while doing a residency. Now, maybe she had already gone to medical school, but I have a feeling not. I know she was talking loud because I couldn’t hear a thing the doctor or resident said, but I could tell they were very gracious to her like always. I wanted to scream “shut-up.” I know, bad clergygirl. But I was freezing so I had my 6 blankets over my head but I still couldn’t shut her out.
Man 2: He wasn’t annoying. In fact, I felt bad for him. He sounded really young and he had what I believe was some sort of testicular cancer. They were going to be doing surgery again to hook up his urethra. It sounded like he was doing well. But he admitted to the nurse that he still “party’s” a lot, which ain’t so bad….I like a good party, but he admitted he drinks at these party’s, and not just a little. Adding it up in his head he said that makes several beers a day. He also said he smoked, but could quit for up to 5 weeks at a time. **Sigh** Let’s pray for man 2, because you would think he would have more respect in his body having cancer that young and not just quit smoking for 5 weeks….but for good! I wanted to be his mother and go over and give him a nice long lecture, but I stayed under my six blankets. I had also asked for socks between lady 1 and man 2.
But I didn’t yell or lecture. Nor did I really enjoy the loud recovery area. Maybe it was EXTRA loud because I was coming off anesthesia?
So my legs are swollen and black and blue. My breasts are perfect. I’m good. I’m happy. I’m almost done. Almost 99.9% back to me, with a few scars for the ride.