I have no idea. I was asleep.
But I can tell you about the before part and the after part. I’ll try to do that here. My therapist said if you wake up in the middle of the night, just write. That first night in the hospital I did that. I woke up at 3am and wrote down all the weird thoughts and things and stuff. This will be my attempt to interpret those notes and figure out when flatulence first occurred.
We got up a little before 5am. Both freaked out, cranky. Somehow we convinced the dogs to go out and potty - they knew something was up. Usually they sleep until we get up and then Arthur refuses to potty until he’s vibrating or he gets a walk. We got everyone to wee and were packed in the car and headed off by 5:20am.
I was drinking my Gatorade as they told me to. I hadn’t been allowed to eat after midnight - I stopped at around 8pm - but was allowed to drink up to three hours before my procedure. And drink Gatorade. The sugar and electrolytes will help. That I did in the car on the way in. I had downed 16 ounces of water before we left the house.
We arrived, parked, took the elevator up and signed in on the kiosk. We were sent to the waiting room. I remember brown. Why are waiting rooms always brown in hospitals? I’m sure I could get a better description if I asked my husband, but maybe he will want to do a guest post about the brown-ness or non-brown-ness of the waiting room?
This is the story from my perspective. Brown. There was a board on the wall where you could track your patient’s progress. All I ever saw was “Wait Room In” - after that, the board was just for him to track my progress. It was like an arrivals/departures board in an airport. Only you really cared about the line you were looking for, everyone around you was looking for a different flight.
They took me back. I was given a gown to change into and some fun mesh underwear because my body had decided to give me a parting gift over the weekend. One last hurrah for the reproductive bits. Anyway, the mesh undies. My sister said to take home extra because you know what? They’re really quite comfortable. I did not, but I’ll see if I can figure out where to get them from and keep a stash on hand.
They also put in an IV on my left hand at this time. You know, one of those that they plug in/unplug as needed. Stole some blood, had me wee in a cup, gave me some stuff I’m sure. I think I took a little ketchup thingy full of pills. This whole part is kind of a blur. My breast surgeon came in to see me and write her initials on my chest, asking if we had any questions - husband was with me by this point. Only question I had, and still waiting on the answer because pathology is not back yet, is how much did my tatas weigh? You know, important stuff. Almost everyone who was anyone involved in my surgery came in to say hi during this time. My anesthesiologist had a last name of a Ninja Turtle. I knew I was safe.
It was during this pre-surgery prep time that I also got my tramp stamp. For those unfamiliar, a “tramp stamp” is a colorful term for a tattoo on one’s lower back. Mine was just stick on. It was to protect my back during the procedures and seems to have done a stellar job. I’ve had zero pain on my lower back.
After all this initial poking and prodding was done, I was wheeled away to get my nerve blockers. A mastectomy is not a gentle surgery. They have to cut through lots of nerves in your chest to remove the breast tissue. And I had compounded the fun for the nerve block team by having two procedures in one day. I sat up on the edge of the bed and they put a tray table in front of me with a pillow on it. I leaned over this. There was an ultrasound machine in front of me. This allowed them to guide the nerve block needles - tiny needles - into the areas near my spine they were targeting to block.
They had to tell me to put my head down at least twice, I know this. I remember the weirdest things. They sedated me and then started finding the nerve block places. Two on the upper body, two on the lower body. Near the spine, not in it, one shot on each side in each region. Tiny needles. I felt very little. Then I was laid back down and I think I was there for a time while that part kicked in.
The next part I recall is being wheeled into the operating room. It was white, of course. I was looking up at the huge lights above me. I don’t think we have a room in the house that they’d work in, but they’re pretty in a way. I looked to my left and saw my hero anesthesiologist. All was going to be fine. I looked back up and the mask was on my face. I was told, “Take a couple of deep breaths.”
I breathed deeply.
That’s all I remember until I was dreaming before waking up in recovery.
Tune in tomorrow when I wake up and have a weird dream that I remember!