Surgery Day - Tuesday, June 16, 2009

The day finally came and at about 6:15 a.m. we left for the hospital. On the way, I called a dear friend and my former pastor asking for prayer. They are the only two people I would call that early. We arrived on time, registered as required, then sat and waited to be called. I thought I would go to the bathroom just in case they would not let me once the process began only to find that my name had been called in the interim and that the registration clerk was impatiently looking for me. Then it was off to the “Nuclear” area for the Sentinel Node biopsy. This is when you are injected with radioactive material (I am not sure if it is dye or not) in order to detect whether or not cancer has invaded the lymph nodes surrounding the breast. As the surgeon and I walked to the procedure room he told me that although he knew I had mixed emotions about the operation, he believed I was doing the right thing. I told him that “mixed” was not the word to describe how I felt.

Next, I was escorted to a small room where a procedure was performed to mark the area of cancer with two wires. I had no idea what that entailed until I was in the middle of the process. It was just as well. I do not think I would have wanted to understand what would happen ahead of time. Thank God, they gave me local anesthesia first. Then the procedure began by putting my breast in the mammogram machine. While I was “stuck” in there, the doctor inserted two wires on either side of the tumor with enough tissue in between to ensure they would be cutting out all the cancer. I was praising God in my mind because at that point I really needed His help in order not to scream at the top of my lungs. I felt somewhat like I was the object of a ghoulish experiment. The nurse then taped a styrofoam cup to my breast because the wires were protruding from my skin and she did not want them to puncture my arm, or perhaps get stuck in my gown. I walked back into the waiting area and cried. My sister, not knowing the details of what had just happened, asked why I was crying. I could barely speak. Now, I can laugh at the thought of having a styrofoam cup taped to me but at that point laughing was the farthest thing from my mind. Then the time came for the operation. I was placed on a gurney and whisked down to the pre-op prep room where nurses, doctors and I do not know who else, fluttered around me asking questions, giving instructions and checking my vitals. After this, I was wheeled into the freezing cold operating room. I remember being transferred to the surgical table then hearing the anesthesiologist say, “Good bye.” The next thing I knew I was somewhat awake and trying to determine my surroundings when the surgeon leaned over me and told me that they had discovered the cancer had invaded another area. I was too groggy to respond.

They wheeled me up to the room I would inhabit that night and my sister arrived to sit with me. I was made aware that the surgeon had inserted a drainage tube inside my body that hung from my right side. As the anesthesia wore off, the pain in my right arm increased greatly. It was difficult to move because of it.
As the hours passed, I mused more and more over the surgeon’s words in the operating room. I was terribly disappointed and needed some REAL answers. I think in those weeks that followed I could have torn someone’s head off for trying to offer me some “pat” explanation for the results of the operation. So no one did.