This is your brain on drugs...

I am apologizing in advance for any narcotic-fueled ramblings you are about to read.

Let me start by saying 

Yea!

Yesterday is history.  

Another thing - General Hospital is really more fun when you're taking codeine.  But I digress...

We arrive at the hospital at the designated time, and after getting writer's cramp from signing so many documents, we arrive on the Third Floor:  Day Surgery.  We meet our nurse, who's name is also Nancy.  She excitedly tells me that there is another Nurse Nancy on the floor, as well as a Tech Nancy, and so that's obviously a good omen for me.  I'm so freaking scared that I simply nod and smile and decide she's a little crazy, but maybe that's okay.

Next, I get to disrobe and put on one of those adorable little hospital gowns.  Really, after all the advances in medicine and technology and patient care, no one has figured out a better design for a gown?  I'm seriously thinking that Project Runway needs to make this a challenge next season. 

I meet Deann, my other nurse.  She asks my name and birthdate, which I recite (but not before almost forgetting - seriously).  She puts more paperwork in front me and states outloud the procedures I'm to have done:  Lumpectomy and Sentinel Lymph Node Biopsy on Left Breast.  She asks if this is correct - and I start to cry.  She gently rubs my back and tells me to take my time.  I am overwhelmed by her kindness that I cry a little harder.  Finally, I take a deep breath and sign the paperwork so that we can get this party started.

Nancy pops back in with a big smile on her face - and that dreaded little red tray full of IV needles.  I cry again.  I tell her I have trouble with IVs and she's probably going to have to dig.  Ever so sweetly she says, "I've never had to dig.  But I can numb you up ahead of time if you want.  But it really will be okay."  So I take a deep breath, put on my big girl panties and tell her to go ahead without it.  I'll be damned if not only did she get it on the first try, but I didn't feel a thing:

Thank goodness I have Ken to keep me company, because it's about this time that things start to get busy, and I start to get scared:

 

Deann tells me it's time to go down to Nuclear Medicine for my tracer injection.  The tracer is a radioactive dye that will be used to trace my lymph nodes for biopsy (they start with the first, or "sentinel" lymph node.  Does anyone else think of "The Matrix" when they hear that?  No?  Okay, must just be me...)

At my side is a Ferris State nursing student, in her fourth year.  She's young enough to be my daughter, and she is obviously very nervous.  She talksveryfast and I have to ask her to repeat herself a couple of times.  I learn later that this is the first time she will see a tracer injection.  Poor thing.

My surgeon has asked that the nuclear medicine guy (NMG) not use lidocaine in the tracer injection because he feels it inhibits uptake of the tracer by the lymph nodes.  When I tell the NMG of my surgeon's request he says, "Dr. Frantzis?"  Apparently, he must make this request frequently.  I ask the NMG if I will still like my surgeon after the procedure is done;  he is silent for about five seconds, then says, "I really can't answer that question."  Wow.  What the hell did I just get myself into?

(If you're squeemish you might want to skip the next couple of paragraphs.  I know I would.)

The NMG tells me it's like having a TB test.  They use the "smallest needle in the hospital" and he shows me what looks like an insulin syringe with one of those little teeny tiny baby needles on it.  I'm thinking, okay, not so bad.  He sticks the needle into my left breast directly above the areola.  Okay, not so bad, kinda pokey, but really, lidocaine for this?  He then says he's going to inject the tracer dye.

I levitate off the table at least six inches.

This is not a pleasant procedure.  No, really, it is not.  The tracer dye burns, badly, as it's being injected.  I cry, and apologize, and cry some more.  Then I apologize again.  The poor nursing student standing at my side is absolutely speechless; I'm convinced I see her instinctively hunch ever so slightly, as if protecting her own breast.  Finally, the NMG is done, and he can't get out of there fast enough.

The nursing student and Lynette (where did she come from?) must watch the dye that is burning in my breast for five minutes. so I lay directly underneath a large plate while Lynette explains to my poor nursing student everything that has just happened, and why they are now watching this shit coursing through my boob.  Then, we're done!  All smiles and happiness, they wheel me back up to the holding area on the Third Floor.

I meet the nurse anesthetist, as well as the anesthesiologist.  Deann gives me something to calm me down (could I not have had that, like, half an hour ago??).  They ask me to sign my breast.  The surgeon stops by and signs my boob, too (I feel like a freaking rock star right about now).

 

Patricia is my surgical nurse; she gives me more drugs so I really like her, too:

And we're off like a cheap prom dress - it's showtime!

I wake up several hours later.  The first thing I do it touch my chest - my breast is still there.  I touch under my left arm - no drain, so they did not remove all of my lymph nodes.  I touch my collar bone - no port, which means none of the lymph nodes appeared suspicious.  I start to cry, and then Ken and Michael and Stephanie are at my side, and I know it's going to be okay.

I don't remember much of last night.  They gave me morphine before I left the hospital, which makes me nauseous for several hours every time I try to eat or drink.  This pisses me off because I have homemade soup and peppermint bark from Kirsta that are calling my name, but not wanting to stay in my tummy.  Stephanie hangs around for a while and it makes me so happy I cry (I see a definite pattern developing here).  I spend the evening and all night in a pattern of sleep/wake/sleep/wake until my throbbing neck demands I get my ass out of bed.  I'm taking codeine for the first time in my life and it's not too bad - far less woo-woo than Vicodin which, since my wrist surgery is my go-to pain med.  

But this morning, my soul is singing.  Every step we make takes us in a positive direction.  Small tumor.  Clean margins.  Negative HER2.  Negative nodes (so far).  Two of four chemo indicators are negative, which makes me optimistic.  Once we get the final path report this week we'll know more; if negative, then we move on to the Oncotype test.  I know there will be radiation - I can do that.  I prefer no chemo, but will do whatever I have to to beat this beast.  But I'm beginning to think we're in a good place; that surgery and radiation will do the trick. 

I know this will never be "over"; our lives are forever changed, and I will always be watching and waiting for a recurrence.  But I also realize that I am fortunate, I am lucky, to have cancer that is small and "typical" and easy to treat.  

I am blessed.