Friday, June 24, 2011

Surgery day! Good things they don't give me much time to contemplate this stuff or I might have a nervous breakdown. Am I more nervous about surgery or what they might or might not find during the surgery? Probably the latter.

Reporting time isn't until 1 p.m., so it's work from home in the morning day. I actually get a lot done, which is somewhat surprising and very helpful for my state of mind.

Head to Same-Day Surgery. Here we go again. There's Connie. She gives me great comfort just being there--to see a calm, experienced face in the midst of all this chaos.

Start another IV (5 times in 10 days). We're going to give you some sleepy medicine. No, you're not. Really? You're sure? Yes. Let me try things my way people. It works quite well for me. So, what do I want?

I'd like the anesthesiologist to be in the room, drugs not drawn but ready in case I request them. But nothing unless I ask. It's so much easier for my body to recover and deal with this way. Trust me. I've been through a bit before. Whew! We're all on board now.

Yes, I'm fasting so you all feel better, even though I probably won't receive any medications that require me to fast. Better to be prepared.

Wait for delays in previous surgeries a while, but we're finally ready. What was supposed to start at 2 is starting at 3:15. Let's get this show on the road.

Wheeled into the room and transfer to the OR bed. Oh look! There are all the implements and tools that will soon be in the crease of my left leg. This is not the time to freak out, Trish. Don't think too much about that.

Listen to the preliminary instrument and sponge counts. Kind of funny to think about. Okay, need to stop that train of thought also.

There's the pathologist from UVRMC bedside. He came up just for this. He's going to do a frozen specimen (free of charge) today to try and make up for the mishandling of the needle biopsy. I'm very impressed and touched by this guesture. We should know by the time I'm wheeled out. Very cool. I tell him I'm 99% sure it's nodular, sclerosing Hodgkins lymphoma, but I need his stamp of authenticity on it before we can proceed with any kind of treatment plan.

Surgery starts, and goes on and on and on. Apparently, my body doesn't like the idea of letting go of its lymph nodes. Of course not! Its plan is to fill each one with cancer, multiple times, so we're totally messing with its diabolical plan today.

The procedure doesn't really hurt. There's a lot of pulling and tugging. At one point, there's a sudden, stabbing, knife-life pain. More lidocaine, please. Ahhhh. Back to waiting. It is freezing cold in this room. Oh well. Dr. Jennifer is great to talk to me and let me know what's going on. Very unusual for a surgeon!

After about 30 minutes, when I can tell things are more intense than they originally planned for, I yell out, "I'm doing great, but this is a lot longer than we all originally anticipated. How are you guys doing?" Everything is great. They almost have it out and can start closing. Cool. It would be cool to watch. Maybe I should work on that aspect if there's ever a next time.

They show me the sample. It's about the size of a slightly mishapen ping pong ball, with a hook-like shape coming off one end. Wow! Bigger than I anticipated. No stitches that need to be removed, just Dermabond that should stay clean and dry for about seven days.

About 30 minutes later, I'm unhooked, undraped, and transferred to a gurney and wheeled into "Recovery." From what? Can I get a drink immediately? Yes, and I can start dressing too. Great.

The pathologist comes in. Oh crud. He looks concerned and tries to make small talk, but I'm in no mood to dally today. I impolitely interrupt. Look, the only bad news you can give me today is that you can't make a definitive diagnosis or there wasn't enough to test. No, he has the diagnosis. It's exactly what we suspected. He feels very comfortable after comparing slides to make a diagnosis, but the full report should be available on Monday.

Let me go home, please! No activity or diet restrictions. Just a three-inch scar safely tucked into the crease of my left leg.