August 12, 2010
I don't know whose bright idea it was to schedule a doctor visit with the radiologist the morning after surgery. I'm okay just really sore and not wanting to move. The port is in that hollow between your collar bone and shoulder in my left side. I told the nurse it felt like a bad sprain. But before I got home I decided it felt like a bullet hole! My arm has limits in what it will do without making that muscle seize up. They gave me Vicodin for pain. I just don't like it. I don't know why it has such a high street value. It has never helped my pain. It does make me sleepy though.
She told him, they had 12 medications for me to pick up. Apparently Doctors had been faxing in scripts for chemo care, diabetes plus pain meds. The pharmacy tech got rather snarky when he told her he was there to pick up the vicodin. It was the drug I immediately needed.
She questioned him why we bothered having the other meds called in! ergh. He in turn got impatient and rather heatedly said...."Look lady! My wife has breast cancer and she just got home from a surgery. She NEEDS the pain med now. The others can wait until the weekend when I can get back in with the rest of the money for the other meds."
She apologized but Mr. Rosey doesn't know that he won't speak to the pharmacist anyway. He is already feeling like he's operating in crisis mode. He had a really bad morning at work. They probably don't mean to but they really guilt-ed him about leaving for my surgery.
He was delightful but I had a hard time believing he had graduated high school much less medical school. I was reassured by his whiskers. That was my vantage point...lying on a gurney under that joke of a gown. I could see the bottom of his chin where he had real man whiskers, not just boy fuzz.
They did provide blessed warm blankets, so regardless I was laying on my back looking at Doogie's chin. I showed him where I didn't want the port...like under a bra strap. I had written all over my chest where my bra lines were..where the seat belt lines where. I had a hay day with markers. Kind of like a kindergartner with the permission to write all over with markers?
So Mr. Anesthesiologist comes in. Not so young but looked mid 30's. Still young but not "Doogie" young. He looked fresh off the farm. He was in scrubs, but his appearance screamed BUMPKIN! I'm referring to the OZARK "look out the revenuer is acomin' backwoods bumpkin". I'm related to a WHOLE bunch of them.
He walked up, introduced himself. But he asked the question that I have come to detest.
I told him I was dehydrated and not a good stick on a good day so he gave me one of those "I'm the doctor" smirks. But he poked my elbow veins and missed. Then he went to the inside of the wrist. Yowza! It kept stopping and they would call him back. He finally taped it to my arm and tied my hand and arm down to a board. Then he took a black marker and wrote across the tapes - Do NOT disturb!
The surgery was only about 20 minutes so I didn't have to be put totally under anesthesia. They used Versed and Propofol...the Micheal Jackson drug. Seriously. I was chatting with the nurse who was scrubbing and draping me....and then I was waking up while riding down a hallway. I didn't have any of weird anesthesia feeling. It was pop! I'm awake and talking. "Where are we going? To recovery? Did they cancel the surgery? No...its over?" Seriously and I laid back and said, "Dude...if this is what feeling drunk is like, I wanna go home and try it!" They cracked up! I was feeling no pain.
I was turned over to a nurse in Recovery. I asked her how long I had to stay there cuz frankly I was ready to go. "Well you have to drink something and keep it down. Then you have to walk without fainting." I did all those things so she helped me dress. Then they gave me a Vicodin and an ice pack and sent me on my way.
My sisters showed up only 30 minutes before I had to leave for the surgery. They all came in wearing head scarves that they planned to leave with me. Mom kept wearing hers. It was nice to see my mom. I think she wanted to come for this surgery because she doesn't think she will make the big one this winter. :( She came into pre-op to sit with me. It seemed like she wanted to stay close to me. I hate that I'm putting her through this while she's dying of liver failure.
For some reason I had this visceral gut type response to seeing them all wearing chemo scarves or hats. Not sure what that was about on my part. I know they weren't making fun and they were being supportive. So I don't know why it was such a kick in the shorts for me.
I made a mistake in judgement. The surgery was short and I guess momma wanted to spend more time with me. She asked if she could take me to dinner. Mr. Rosey had to get on home to start HIS infusion. So we all piled into her van and went to Olive Garden. While I was sitting there... anesthesia started wearing off and the entire left side of my body started humming in pain. I just wanted to go home and they were having a good time with dinner. sigh.
By the time I got home, I was wiped out and just wanted to cry from the exhaustion and pain. Mom and the sisters sat around chatting, while the nurses made themselves scarce. A new nurse - who looks all of 22 years old will be taking over Mr. Rosey's care. What is going on with all these doctors and nurses looking like they should be earning their scouting badges? I felt like I had to sit up while the new nurse was here when more than anything I just wanted to go to bed. Oh well. I survived it.
We learned my insurance does not cover a shower chair. Do you believe they called it a luxury item? WOW!! I would challenge them to have chemo and/or radiation and then call the chair a luxury.
I have loved the texts from all you WOW friends. KJ gets all weepy at some of them. He's just like... most of these people have no clue whether you really have cancer. He says, "You could be scamming the whole lot of them." he he he.... That's right. I have been setting this up for the last 10 years.
Sunday - our weekend nurse came in bringing a shower chair. An NICE shower chair with a soap holder and a place to hang a towel. I had asked if I gave her the cash, if she would pick me up a shower seat from her pharmacy? Well she just walked in with this nice seat and said it was her "contribution" to my care. How sweet is that?