(Left: Dr. Morris Johnson, my surgeon)
My lumpectomy was scheduled for Tuesday, August 5th. I'd been counting down the days as if I were preparing for my execution. I spent a lot of time reading the Psalms, which gave me much consolation. King David's supplications for deliverance from his afflictions and praise for God's mercies and compassions were the same prayers coming from my own heart.
Our daughter had gone on the Mexico mission trip without us and she returned a week before my surgery. I was so happy to have her home and to hear about what a wonderful experience it had been for her.
In the meantime, I had planned a three-day excursion for the weekend prior to my surgery, to Port Townsend, a picturesque town on the Washington peninsula. I didn't want to be tempted to sit around the house fretting about the surgery.
We drove to the ferry landing about an hour from our home to travel to Port Townsend. While there, we did a driving tour of the Victorian homes, ate delicious food, visited the artsy shops and beautiful parks and beaches, hiked to a small waterfall, and went to a blues and gospel concert. The whole experience was truly enjoyable and helped distract me from my cares. I'm so glad we did it. :~)
The best part of our mini-vacation was that I was able to spend lots of quality time with my husband and daughter. We were even able to attend church at St. Herman of Alaska Orthodox Church that Sunday morning. Our priest had emailed St. Herman's priest to let him know we were coming and also mentioned to him that I had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer.
After the church service, the priest (Father Nicholas) pulled me aside and told me that he wanted to talk to me alone. We sat in the sanctuary to talk. I learned that Father Nicholas had recently returned from Mt. Athos, a "holy mountain" in Greece, and the center of Orthodox monasticism.
Father Nicholas asked me if I would mind taking some myrrh and oil that he had brought back from one of the monasteries at Mt. Athos. Of course, I eagerly said, "Yes!" He then called Gary over and anointed us both with the oil and prayed for us.
I was truly touched and comforted by the compassion and interest that Father Nicholas showed toward me, someone he had never met. Our visit was the highlight of my weekend.
(As an aside, he also invited us to his home across the street and we got to meet his wife and his aging black lab named Moose. I'll never forget Father Nicholas, truly a Christ-like man.)
On Tuesday morning, I reported to the hospital at 7:30 a.m. I had been asked to be prepared to fill out an Advanced Directive (Living Will) or bring one of my own. The day before, I filled out a pro-life version called The Will To Live. One of the main differences between a Living Will and The Will To Live is that the pro-life version does not include food and hydration as medical treatment. In other words, I do not want to be starved and dehydrated to death like Terri Schiavo. However, I recently read about a study which reported that all but 11 states will allow a doctor to overlook a patient's stated wishes (Washington state is one of the states with no protections for the patient's rights). Increasingly, doctors and hospitals, often working through ethics committees, are asserting the authority to deny life-preserving measures against the will of patients and families – and implementing that authority in a growing number of cases.
Pretty scary thought as I get older and am facing my own mortality. I am reminded of a quote by Dr. Leon Kass from his 1985 essay collection, "Toward a More Natural Science": "We have paid some high prices for the technological conquest of nature, but none perhaps so high as the intellectual and spiritual costs of seeing nature as mere material for our manipulation, exploitation and transformation." He continues, "We are already witnessing the erosion of our idea of man as something splendid or divine, as a creature with freedom and dignity. And clearly, if we come to see ourselves as meat, then meat we shall become."
Enough waxing philosophical. I was pretty anxious, not about the surgery as much as the few hours I would be undergoing procedures before being put to sleep. So I asked the doctor if I could take something for anxiety. He gave me a prescription for Xanex and I took some before I left my house. I thought it would make me drowsy, but it didn't. It did, however, take the edge off of my anxiety. After I was registered in Day Surgery, I was taken to my own room where I was asked to change into a gown. My nurse came in soon after and introduced herself. I liked her. She was friendly, but not overly solicitous, just down to business and confident about what she was there to do. My big concern since the trauma at the medical center of being poked SIX times for blood was whether she would get my IV in easily. My husband and I mentioned to her what a hard time the lab people had with my small veins. She listened, but didn't seem too concerned. She then went on to place the IV in my left arm with no problem. Yippee! One poke down with no problems (I was happy with small victories).
I was then given two Percoset pills and a pill for swelling. The nurse said my surgeon wanted his patients to take them ahead of surgery. Looking back, I realize that taking two Percosets was probably the best thing I could do before the procedures that were to follow. I was then taken downstairs, via wheelchair, to the ultrasound department so that the radiologists could locate the tumor and insert a small wire to the site. I had been told by my surgeon's medical assistant a few days earlier that if the titanium marker that was placed at the site of the tumor didn't show up on ultrasound, my surgery might have to be cancelled. So she said to hope that the marker showed up on the day of surgery. I found out from the radiologist that the medical assistant didn't know what she was talking about. Her comments only served to stress me out even more.
A female intern came in to do the initial ultrasound while my husband sat to the side and watched. Unfortunately, she couldn't locate the tumor. Things weren't looking good. I wondered why they would have an intern do this, but I understood that they have to learn through real-world experience. I just didn't want them screwing up my surgery. Then the "expert" ultrasound guy came in and told her to have me turn on my side more. Almost immediately, the tumor showed up on the screen. My husband was then asked to leave the room. I was given an injection of local anesthetic to the breast, which I had been dreading. The injection prior to the biopsy was a bit painful, so I mentioned it to them beforehand. Fortunately, I barely felt it this time. Yippee! Another small victory. I watched the screen as the technician injected a small needle straight to the tumor site and then withdrew it, leaving behind a small wire that was left hanging outside. This would give the surgeon a "straight shot" to the tumor, since it was not visible to the naked eye.
Next, I was taken to Nuclear Medicine, across the hall, where a radioactive, blue dye was to be injected. After a period of time, the dye would work its way through my lymph system and, during surgery, the surgeon would use a small, Geiger counter-type device to locate my sentinel node (the lymph node closest to the tumor, off of which the other nodes branch). I was nervous about this injection procedure as well because I read about one woman's experience. She said it had been painful. I mentioned my nervousness to the doctor, who seemed very understanding and careful. A nurse came in to prep me and then the doctor came in immediately to inject the dye. I don't remember much about the experience, other than that I didn't feel a thing. Yippee! The drugs were working.
I was then returned to my room upstairs with my husband accompanying me. It was after 10:30 and my surgery was scheduled for 11:30. My mom, dad, and daughter showed up to visit for a few minutes before I was taken to surgery. It was such a comfort to have the people I love there with me. I was reminded of the last scene from "The Wizard of Oz" when Dorothy awakens to find herself surrounded by the farmhands (aka the Tin Man, Scarecrow, and the Cowardly Lion), and Auntie Em and Uncle Henry. "There's no place like home . . . there's no place like home . . ."
The nurse came in one last time and said that I needed another injection. I said, "What? I thought you guys were done poking me!" My mom made a comment about how I never liked getting shots and it was no big deal. Believe me, at this point, it really wasn't a big deal. The nurse gave me an injection in my abdomen to thin my blood right before surgery. Hmmm, interesting.
Then the anesthesiolgist made an appearance, asked a few questions, and asked me to open my mouth wide. He peered inside and said, "Is that cosmetic dental work in the front?" I told him yes, I'd had some composite resin work done to my front teeth. And then off he went.
It was nearing 11:00 a.m. and the next thing I knew, I was told it was time for surgery. I remember wondering if the dye had had time to do its work in my lymph system yet, as I had read it took up to two hours to appear. No matter, I said my good-byes to my family and was wheeled away on the bed. The last person I remember seeing in the hallway as they wheeled me away was my dad. He looked concerned, but hopeful. I felt like crying.
As I was wheeled into surgery, I saw a huge clock and someone sitting at a desk said, "It's 11:08." I supposed they needed to keep track of the exact amount of time you are in the surgical suite. Once I was in the center of the room, I was told that I needed to move on over to the surgery table. I was helped, but I also moved partly on my own. As I stretched out on the table, I looked over and saw my surgeon wearing a mask and prepped for surgery. He made an encouraging remark to me, something like, "Hi Dana. Everything's going to be okay. You'll be fine." (What a guy.)
The next thing I remember is feeling a painful, burning sensation (actually, about three in a row) in my wrist and arm where the IV was inserted. I knew this was the sleep agent going in. I remember saying, "Ouch! That burns! That's worse than the other things you guys did to me!" The anesthesiologist looked slightly humored and said nothing. I bet they hear a lot of amusing things just before people go under. :~)
My next memory is waking up in recovery. The recovery room nurse told me that my doctor had been in to see me, but I have no recollection of it. The nurse told me that my sentinel node tested negative for cancer cells. I began to cry and said, "Praise God." She said something like, "Oh no, you're crying, and I'm the only one in here with you." I guess she thought my family should be with me.
She told me that I would be allowed to see my husband in a few minutes. I remember asking her if I was the only one in recovery or if there were other people in there with me. She said, "No, right now, you're the only one." Then I remember telling her (thinking that I was completely lucid) about watching the John Adams biography on DVD and how his daughter had breast cancer and had to have her breast removed in a back bedroom with no anesthetic. I told the nurse that I was so glad that I lived in a day with the technology we had. She smiled and asked me if John Adams' daughter lived. I said, "Yes, for awhile, but then later she died." I bet she hears a lot of interesting conversations in the recovery room!
I looked at a clock in the recovery room and it was nearly 1:00 p.m. I was then told I could go back to my room and see my husband. The surgeon had visited with my husband immediately after the surgery and told him the good news about my sentinel node and that the surgery had gone smoothly. My husband had brought his laptop and emailed our priest right away to let him know. While he was talking with the surgeon, my supervisor from work showed up with a card and a gift. She got to hear the good news as well and she started to cry (she later said, "Did your husband tell you what a whacko I am?"). But it was sweet and meant a lot to me that she came to the hospital. Unfortunately, I didn't get to see her, as I wasn't out of recovery at the time.
My mom and daughter had returned to the hospital and were there to greet me after I returned to my room. I was told that I could use the restroom if needed. I still had the IV in my arm, so the nurse told me to pull a cord in the restroom when I was finished and she would come in to help me exit. When I entered the restroom, I looked in the mirror and saw that my face was grayish-blue! I looked like a cadaver! The surgeon had warned my husband that I might appear "blue" for awhile from the dye they had injected into me. Boy, he wasn't kidding.
I was given another Percoset after surgery and I remember feeling some pain start to kick in (not a lot, but I wanted to get ahead of it). So I asked if I could take one more. My husband also got a prescription filled for more Percosets, which I only ended up taking the day of surgery. The day following surgery, I was able to get by with extra-strength Tylenol alone.
Awhile later, I was told that if I felt up to it, I could dress and get ready to go home. Hallelujah! I left the hospital about 3:00 p.m. to head for home. I was amazed at how quickly the day had gone and relieved to have the surgery behind me. I felt tremendous gratitude for the mercy and compassion of God upon me and that things had gone so well.