It started as a gentle rain. The trees rustled in the breeze shaking off the fine water droplets much like a dog shaking off the water from it's coat. The windshield wipers on my car were set to intermittent. They swiped across my view every 5 seconds to scoop the droplets and clear my line of vision. Soon I would have to reset them to move the water off faster as the rain increased in it's intensity.
Beneath a tree on the left side of the road, stood a young woman seeking shelter from this storm. The rain was denied finding her beneath this leafy tree while she waited on the school bus that would leave her son which she would escort to their home.
My destination was across the street directly opposite from where this young woman stood. I was going to stop in at Pat's for a short visit. As I turned into Pat's driveway, the storm seemed to lunge forth pelting the streets with a deluge of water. The young woman was no longer being sheltered. The rain was breaking through those leafs and pounding against her. I quickly backed my car down the driveway and motioned for her to come and stand beneath the carport. Smiling though the rain, she darted across the street and beneath the shelter of my friends carport. The rain continued it's onslaught, heavy and relentless, the streets were soon covered. Peering through this downpour, I motioned the young woman out of the way so I could pull my car beneath the carport. She moved to the side, still being protected from the rain while I pulled in beside of her. Motioning her to get in the car, I told her we could wait beside the road for the bus.
It was when she tried communicating with me, that I found she spoke very little English. My new friend was Cuban and my Spanish is nonexistant. In her broken English, she explained she was waiting on her son to arrive via the school bus.
Through the pouring rain, the bus stopped and her son was greeted by his mother who dashed from my car to where he was climbing down into the rain from the bus. She secured him in the back seat of my car and I drove her to her house which is on the same street as I live but further down the road. Abby was able to communicate her name and her thankfulness for my coming to her rescue.
Occasionally as I'm driving through the neighborhood I see Abby walking to and from the bus stop. A few days ago Abby stopped in. I wasn't home but the husband was and they were able to have a conversation in Spanish. He told me about her when I got back home and he said she would stop in again.
Today Abby arrived once again and this time with a friend and a big bowl of food. It is her anniversary and her family was having a BBQ. She wanted to bring me some food. She knew I was having surgery but she thought it was next Thursday. She wanted to apologize for visiting but I made sure she knew I was happy to see her and thanked her effusively for the food she bought.
I only wish I could speak Spanish. As she spoke with the husband, I could understand a few sentences then as the conversation turned, I lost the track and sat quietly until the husband could translate for me.
She told my husband she thought I was a very nice lady. I'm always amazed that people can come from another country not knowing this language and find their way to supporting themselves and coping with all the strangeness they must encounter here. Would I have the guts to do the same? Would I travel to another country to live not knowing anyone but my husband and child? I try to imagine how I would feel and from that I treat them accordingly. She has an eight year old son, exactly Carrie's age. I think I might have found someone for Carrie to spend some time with when she is here with me. I'll get with Abby and arrange some play time for them.
i can remember when my mother in law and I would walk around her apartment complex in Arizona. As we walked she would point at things and tell me in Spanish the names while I would reply in English. Her English was much better then my Spanish. Her grandchildren were amazed to hear her speak English. She was never comfortable talking to her family in English but with me she didn't have a choice. I knew no Spanish so she was forced into speaking to me in English.
To this day, I wish I were bilingual. I would have liked to speak either Spanish or Italian. While in Italy, the husband could communicate quite easily with the Italians by using his Spanish. He was able to understand Italian as they are both Latin based languages. My Italian mother could converse with the Spanish people in the same way. I am always impressed by anyone that is bilingual. Impressed and envious of their ability.
It's time for another Percocet. I'll be unavailable for coherent typing for about 3 hrs.
I'm done here for now!
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Two Days Post Op
I love watching sports. The best part, at my age, is how impressed I am about the physical condition of these people. Football Saturday and Sunday, I watch those players get hit full force on. I watch them hit the ground in all manners of bone cracking, muscle tearing contact. They go from "full out flat on the ground" to "standing erect" so quickly that you have to pay close attention to how they do that. I find myself watching this display of strength. Do you notice this too or am I alone in this?
I think this watching of those players recovery from those hits and pop back up on their feet without a struggle relate back to the time I could sit "Indian fashion", my legs crossed each other at the knees and from this position I could scissor myself into a standing position without ever having to uncross my legs. My legs were at the high point of their "being in shape". I snow skied every day and keeping my legs in top shape was a priority for me. I could ski all day long and my legs never tired. I worked on keeping them in shape. In the summer, I laced up a pair of ice skating boots and did laps on ice at the arena which kept my legs strong for the upcoming winter ski season. I cannot scissor myself into a standing position now and have NOT been able to do that for many years, hence my obsession with watching those football players pop up from their ground position to their feet in seconds.
This is my second day post op. My instructions are to "fold my arms across my chest, the right hand touching the left shoulder and the left hand touching the right shoulder. This keeps me from using my hands and arms to propel myself upward from a sitting position from the sofa or from a lying position when getting out of bed. If you forget and use your arms, you will be in much pain; something I've already had Lesson 1 on. I should have worked on leg strength before this surgery. Biking or walking would have helped had I thought about it.
I am careful where I sit. Pillows piled behind my back push me forward on the sofa to the edge. When I get ready to stand, I fold my arms, wiggle forward a bit, plant my feet on the floor and rock forward a few times until I rise to a standing position. My husband offers to help but I decline to accept. I need to do this alone. I need to figure out what will work in the event I'm alone here. I hate being "needy". I've never been a "needy" person. I know I have limitations right now and I know it will get easier as time goes on and I also know my limits and I'm willing to accept those for now.
I swallowed my Lortab as soon as I got to the kitchen. My new rule will be to take the damn thing BEFORE I attempt to get out of bed. Going from a lying position to standing shifts the skin on my chest and the incision sites suddenly get pressure on them and it's most uncomfortable, bordering slightly on pain.
I checked the drains this morning. The two in the right chest wall are about 10 to 15 cc's while the two on the right have about 50 cc's. The higher drainage on the right is expected as that area was where the lymph nodes were removed so the surgical site is "deeper" there thus more drainage.
If this is more information then you need, just remember, I write these blogs not only for myself but for others on this path. Just as with the blogs on my knee reconstruction, I like to write about the experiences that might help others that Google for info on this. The emotional and the physical impact on ones life is immense. The things I have read on online forums and talking to friends that have had friends go through this, talking to women that have went through this was what was a big help to me. I don't know if I could have done this electively.
An unexpected part of this is being a bit excited about the wardrobe change I will experience. I look in the mirror and see the button up shirt I'm wearing and the button holes are not gaping open from the strain of my breasts against them. This doesn't make me sad. I WANT to NOT want the reconstruction. I WANT to WANT to be satisfied with this look. If I were in my thirties, I would probably know at this time that a reconstruction would be mandatory. At my age, do I really care? Only time will tell. Many women that thought they wanted one, ended up NOT and others that stayed flat chested for two years eventually ended up having the reconstruction while still others opted out. I want to be in the "opted out" group. Only time will tell.
Do I feel lighter? I've been asked that question. Can I tell they are gone? I've been asked that question too. My answer to this is "the support thing they put me in post op is the same support I had with the bras I wore pre surgery. My breast never felt "heavy" while wearing my bra because I made sure I wore GOOD supportive bras." That's my answer right now. The difference now I notice is...I can see my stomach and feet. I notice the shirt I'm wearing is huge now on me. I don't need to buy a huge shirt to encompass my chest which then held it away from my waist and hips which didn't need all that roominess.
It's almost 0800 now and my daughter should be here soon to strip or 'milk" the tubing on the drains and empty and record the amount. Her doing this is always good for a few laughs. She borders on hysteria while doing it. The nervous laughter is loud and soon tears are rolling down her face. She will never be in the medical field. Her facial expressions when she is performing this task ranges from fright to disgust. Her exclamations are something you would never hear from a professional health care worker doing a task on a patient. I can fully understand, from my position now, what her patient would be thinking. She tries and that's the important part; her wanting to help me. I appreciate her for putting herself through this for me and my knowing it's not easy for her.
I watch closely as she goes about her chore and I'm as relieved as she is when the last drain is cleaned.
I'm off to the kitchen to get a fresh cup of brew...a brew I did myself this morning. All is well here and for that I'm grateful!
The little Lortab is kickin in..and I'm outta here!
I think this watching of those players recovery from those hits and pop back up on their feet without a struggle relate back to the time I could sit "Indian fashion", my legs crossed each other at the knees and from this position I could scissor myself into a standing position without ever having to uncross my legs. My legs were at the high point of their "being in shape". I snow skied every day and keeping my legs in top shape was a priority for me. I could ski all day long and my legs never tired. I worked on keeping them in shape. In the summer, I laced up a pair of ice skating boots and did laps on ice at the arena which kept my legs strong for the upcoming winter ski season. I cannot scissor myself into a standing position now and have NOT been able to do that for many years, hence my obsession with watching those football players pop up from their ground position to their feet in seconds.
This is my second day post op. My instructions are to "fold my arms across my chest, the right hand touching the left shoulder and the left hand touching the right shoulder. This keeps me from using my hands and arms to propel myself upward from a sitting position from the sofa or from a lying position when getting out of bed. If you forget and use your arms, you will be in much pain; something I've already had Lesson 1 on. I should have worked on leg strength before this surgery. Biking or walking would have helped had I thought about it.
I am careful where I sit. Pillows piled behind my back push me forward on the sofa to the edge. When I get ready to stand, I fold my arms, wiggle forward a bit, plant my feet on the floor and rock forward a few times until I rise to a standing position. My husband offers to help but I decline to accept. I need to do this alone. I need to figure out what will work in the event I'm alone here. I hate being "needy". I've never been a "needy" person. I know I have limitations right now and I know it will get easier as time goes on and I also know my limits and I'm willing to accept those for now.
I swallowed my Lortab as soon as I got to the kitchen. My new rule will be to take the damn thing BEFORE I attempt to get out of bed. Going from a lying position to standing shifts the skin on my chest and the incision sites suddenly get pressure on them and it's most uncomfortable, bordering slightly on pain.
I checked the drains this morning. The two in the right chest wall are about 10 to 15 cc's while the two on the right have about 50 cc's. The higher drainage on the right is expected as that area was where the lymph nodes were removed so the surgical site is "deeper" there thus more drainage.
If this is more information then you need, just remember, I write these blogs not only for myself but for others on this path. Just as with the blogs on my knee reconstruction, I like to write about the experiences that might help others that Google for info on this. The emotional and the physical impact on ones life is immense. The things I have read on online forums and talking to friends that have had friends go through this, talking to women that have went through this was what was a big help to me. I don't know if I could have done this electively.
An unexpected part of this is being a bit excited about the wardrobe change I will experience. I look in the mirror and see the button up shirt I'm wearing and the button holes are not gaping open from the strain of my breasts against them. This doesn't make me sad. I WANT to NOT want the reconstruction. I WANT to WANT to be satisfied with this look. If I were in my thirties, I would probably know at this time that a reconstruction would be mandatory. At my age, do I really care? Only time will tell. Many women that thought they wanted one, ended up NOT and others that stayed flat chested for two years eventually ended up having the reconstruction while still others opted out. I want to be in the "opted out" group. Only time will tell.
Do I feel lighter? I've been asked that question. Can I tell they are gone? I've been asked that question too. My answer to this is "the support thing they put me in post op is the same support I had with the bras I wore pre surgery. My breast never felt "heavy" while wearing my bra because I made sure I wore GOOD supportive bras." That's my answer right now. The difference now I notice is...I can see my stomach and feet. I notice the shirt I'm wearing is huge now on me. I don't need to buy a huge shirt to encompass my chest which then held it away from my waist and hips which didn't need all that roominess.
It's almost 0800 now and my daughter should be here soon to strip or 'milk" the tubing on the drains and empty and record the amount. Her doing this is always good for a few laughs. She borders on hysteria while doing it. The nervous laughter is loud and soon tears are rolling down her face. She will never be in the medical field. Her facial expressions when she is performing this task ranges from fright to disgust. Her exclamations are something you would never hear from a professional health care worker doing a task on a patient. I can fully understand, from my position now, what her patient would be thinking. She tries and that's the important part; her wanting to help me. I appreciate her for putting herself through this for me and my knowing it's not easy for her.
I watch closely as she goes about her chore and I'm as relieved as she is when the last drain is cleaned.
I'm off to the kitchen to get a fresh cup of brew...a brew I did myself this morning. All is well here and for that I'm grateful!
The little Lortab is kickin in..and I'm outta here!
Friday, November 8, 2013
Through the NIght and into The Daylight
Ronnie the day shift RN was on duty when I got to my room. Change of shift bought Marleen who stuck around until 0700 hrs this morning. I swallowed two Lortab 7.5's and nixed on the usual Ambien.
Marleen was in and out of the room most of the night checking on me and clearing the drains. My pain is not severe and is easily covered by the pain meds. I drifted into and out of sleep, the television my constant. I watched a typhoon sweep into the Phillipines and drifted off to wake to a Hoover swirling over a dirty carpet. Viewing shows in this order left me thinking I might be hallucinating.
When it was time for the next dose of medicine, I asked for an order of toast thinking it would be better to not take medicnes on an empty stomach. The toast was awesome, the Lortab taken and 1 hr. later I was vomiting. This didn't work out as I thought it would.
My breakfast tray had arrived and Ronnie was back on duty. He asked if I wanted my tray. "I'm starved!" I say and the tray was delivered. The sausage and cheese omelet were special and 1 hr. later I was vomiting again. The husband passed me the emesis basin and bolted for the door. I had rang for the nurse and he was on his way again. Cold towels, air stirred with a paper book and a mouth rinse and I was back to normal. As soon as this event passes, I feel great. No weakness; no nausea and never much warning when it starts. I have just enough time to warn the husband so he can get on his track shoes and break all records getting away!
Louise, my RN friend, came to visit. She investigated the drains as nurses will do, and that whoosh of air passing by was the husband exiting the room once again. Just the sight of the drains was enough to make him vanish. In his defense, he is very good on helping me up, cooking, cleaning and attend to anything to do with sickness that doesn't involve actual body contact. I'm not worried. I can milk the drains, measure and record them. The daughter says she will be here to do it this afternoon but I fear she is no more at ease then the husband on this. I'll assure her I can take care of this. I appreciate her wanting to do this for me but I can handle it if she gets queasy. I'll let them open the medicine bottles for me and change the linens and avoid drainages.
I'm home now and investigating what I can do for myself. I CAN get in and out of bed without help much to my relief. I can get dressed by myself and toilet myself. I'm thrilled that I can do these things for myself on Day 1 post op.
I am spending the afternoon in bed catching up on sleep missed last night and that's what I am going to do as soon as this sentence if finished! CIAO!!
Marleen was in and out of the room most of the night checking on me and clearing the drains. My pain is not severe and is easily covered by the pain meds. I drifted into and out of sleep, the television my constant. I watched a typhoon sweep into the Phillipines and drifted off to wake to a Hoover swirling over a dirty carpet. Viewing shows in this order left me thinking I might be hallucinating.
When it was time for the next dose of medicine, I asked for an order of toast thinking it would be better to not take medicnes on an empty stomach. The toast was awesome, the Lortab taken and 1 hr. later I was vomiting. This didn't work out as I thought it would.
My breakfast tray had arrived and Ronnie was back on duty. He asked if I wanted my tray. "I'm starved!" I say and the tray was delivered. The sausage and cheese omelet were special and 1 hr. later I was vomiting again. The husband passed me the emesis basin and bolted for the door. I had rang for the nurse and he was on his way again. Cold towels, air stirred with a paper book and a mouth rinse and I was back to normal. As soon as this event passes, I feel great. No weakness; no nausea and never much warning when it starts. I have just enough time to warn the husband so he can get on his track shoes and break all records getting away!
Louise, my RN friend, came to visit. She investigated the drains as nurses will do, and that whoosh of air passing by was the husband exiting the room once again. Just the sight of the drains was enough to make him vanish. In his defense, he is very good on helping me up, cooking, cleaning and attend to anything to do with sickness that doesn't involve actual body contact. I'm not worried. I can milk the drains, measure and record them. The daughter says she will be here to do it this afternoon but I fear she is no more at ease then the husband on this. I'll assure her I can take care of this. I appreciate her wanting to do this for me but I can handle it if she gets queasy. I'll let them open the medicine bottles for me and change the linens and avoid drainages.
I'm home now and investigating what I can do for myself. I CAN get in and out of bed without help much to my relief. I can get dressed by myself and toilet myself. I'm thrilled that I can do these things for myself on Day 1 post op.
I am spending the afternoon in bed catching up on sleep missed last night and that's what I am going to do as soon as this sentence if finished! CIAO!!
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Resetting My Clock
April and the husband alternated with sitting beside me in holding. More paperwork, an IV started and Lactated Ringers hanging, I'm waiting. Versed was pushed, a pre op to relax and time passed along.
An hour passes and the curtain surrounding my bed parted, the metal rings it was tracked on sang out it's metallic warning. The surgeon stepped inside and pulled the curtain closed behind him. He came to tell me and apologize for what he had to say. Jason, his son was doing a thyroid surgery at the hospital across the road and requested he assist him. Apparently, unexpected complications and he wanted the best surgeon in town, his dad, to come. Doc tried to get his nurse to come and deliver this news to me but she bowed out and in he came.
He quickly discussed the change in what he wanted to do related to the incisions, answered my questions, gave me a hug and was on his way after I reassured him I had nothing else planned for today and to take his time helping his son. I've worked with many of the physicians in this town and there are some doctors that are home town boys and are tender and much concerned about their patients and this is one of them. The last time he did surgery on me, I was a nursing student.
An hour passed, rough estimate because the Versed dose was repeated and I was unusually charming and agreeable when the curtains parted again and I was whisked into the surgery suite. Positioning, lights, camera and action, I woke in recovery, groggy and asking for my family. In and out of consciousness, stabilized, I was wheeled to my guest room. This place really feels much like a hotel instead of a hospital. The nurses here have two patients to care for and they have plenty of time and attention.
Morphine IVP (IV push) was slipped into the port of my IV line. The incision site is uncomfortable. I'm not in heavy pain; it burns a bit, feels sore and thats it! Im wearing a bustier, eye hooks lined up down the middle to keep it in place. Two JP (Jackson Pratt) drains attached to each side of it with safey pins.
When the nurse came in to strip or milk the lines and empty them, the husband rushed out of the room. He didn't walk..he RUSHED. I'm afraid he will never study in the medical field and that's ok. The daughter has the same aversion to anything connected to blood, guts and mucous.
The chicken noodle soup and jello was awesome; the first food and drink since yesterday. It's amazing that a simple bowl of soup, a cup of jello and some ice cold apple juice could impart so much joy!
I've been offered another morphine cocktail for dessert but I passed on it. I did agree to the Lortab though. As soon as my nose started itching, I knew it had kicked in.
I thought I wanted the husband to spend the night but I took pity on him after seeing his vinyl covered chair/bed and insisted that he go home.
I know that I promised I would call you this evening and I have made a few calls but I'm not too zippy with conversation. I drift in and out of sleep. Before the next Lortab is due, I decided I would blog this in the event I was in drift mode.
I'm very susceptible to drugs and althoughLortab is not the king of pain killers, it still sets me on my butt when I take it. I appreciate that I don't have to have heavy drugs.
It is now 2100 hrs...and I've voided; a very big accomplishment towards my nurse getting rid of the IV pole and fluids. I'm ready to settle down for the night. If this posting is in any way weird...please excuse.
An hour passes and the curtain surrounding my bed parted, the metal rings it was tracked on sang out it's metallic warning. The surgeon stepped inside and pulled the curtain closed behind him. He came to tell me and apologize for what he had to say. Jason, his son was doing a thyroid surgery at the hospital across the road and requested he assist him. Apparently, unexpected complications and he wanted the best surgeon in town, his dad, to come. Doc tried to get his nurse to come and deliver this news to me but she bowed out and in he came.
He quickly discussed the change in what he wanted to do related to the incisions, answered my questions, gave me a hug and was on his way after I reassured him I had nothing else planned for today and to take his time helping his son. I've worked with many of the physicians in this town and there are some doctors that are home town boys and are tender and much concerned about their patients and this is one of them. The last time he did surgery on me, I was a nursing student.
An hour passed, rough estimate because the Versed dose was repeated and I was unusually charming and agreeable when the curtains parted again and I was whisked into the surgery suite. Positioning, lights, camera and action, I woke in recovery, groggy and asking for my family. In and out of consciousness, stabilized, I was wheeled to my guest room. This place really feels much like a hotel instead of a hospital. The nurses here have two patients to care for and they have plenty of time and attention.
Morphine IVP (IV push) was slipped into the port of my IV line. The incision site is uncomfortable. I'm not in heavy pain; it burns a bit, feels sore and thats it! Im wearing a bustier, eye hooks lined up down the middle to keep it in place. Two JP (Jackson Pratt) drains attached to each side of it with safey pins.
When the nurse came in to strip or milk the lines and empty them, the husband rushed out of the room. He didn't walk..he RUSHED. I'm afraid he will never study in the medical field and that's ok. The daughter has the same aversion to anything connected to blood, guts and mucous.
The chicken noodle soup and jello was awesome; the first food and drink since yesterday. It's amazing that a simple bowl of soup, a cup of jello and some ice cold apple juice could impart so much joy!
I've been offered another morphine cocktail for dessert but I passed on it. I did agree to the Lortab though. As soon as my nose started itching, I knew it had kicked in.
I thought I wanted the husband to spend the night but I took pity on him after seeing his vinyl covered chair/bed and insisted that he go home.
I know that I promised I would call you this evening and I have made a few calls but I'm not too zippy with conversation. I drift in and out of sleep. Before the next Lortab is due, I decided I would blog this in the event I was in drift mode.
I'm very susceptible to drugs and althoughLortab is not the king of pain killers, it still sets me on my butt when I take it. I appreciate that I don't have to have heavy drugs.
It is now 2100 hrs...and I've voided; a very big accomplishment towards my nurse getting rid of the IV pole and fluids. I'm ready to settle down for the night. If this posting is in any way weird...please excuse.
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