I Went for a Mastectomy and Joined a Harem

I vaguely recall being wheeled to my room.  I remember the nurse saying there was another person coming in right behind me and if I wanted the bed by the window I needed to get from the gurney onto the bed or that patient would have dibs on the space with a view of the mountains, the sun, the blue sky and more importantly fresh air!  I thought of Nadine's family who says dibs for everything - and I mean everything - nothing is off-limits.  My slightly competitive spirit kicked in and, needless to say, it was somehow a victory to earn that space.  I was feeling high still and when I sat up to greet my parents, I experienced waves of nausea.  They stayed just long enough to make sure I was okay, give me a hug and then left to allow me to rest.  I buzzed the nurse to assist me to the washroom and she arrived just in time to hand me a cardboard bowl to throw up in.  She said it was the effects of the anesthesia wearing off.  Upon my return from the washroom, I realized I was on a ward with three roommates, one of whom was male, due to the overcrowded conditions.  When I walked into the room, he said, "Welcome to my harem."  I pointed to my non-breast and said, "Joke's on you, buddy!"  That set the tenor for the room.

I slept for a while and awoke to all kinds of beeps and groans surrounding my bed.  The woman across from me at the other window seat and who turned out to be really nice, had a tube up her nose that went down her throat.  Poor thing.  That made her cough non-stop all night.  I felt so sorry for her.  The woman next to me freaked out when the alarm began to sound on the machine that holds the clear plastic bags of fluid high on a pole.  She was yelling, "Is it my heart?  Is it my heart?"  I tried to reassure her that not only was it not her heart, but it was my machine and not hers that was ringing.  The nurse came and changed my fluids and reset the machine.  She then spent half an hour reassuring the woman next to me that she was still alive.  A while later, I awoke to the same woman screaming so when the nurse checked on me I said something about that and the nurse told me they were only changing a bandage on her hand; that she had had hip replacement surgery.  What the heck?  Then I heard that patient complain to the nurse that she'd like the windows closed and that it should be her turn by the window.  I thought to myself, "This isn't like musical chairs."  The nurse asked if I minded to close the window and after listening to this whiner all night I said that I did mind, the fresh air was better than the stale hospital air, and it would be too warm in the room with them closed.  The leader of the harem snored endlessly.  I wished at that point I had ear plugs.  I just put the little oxygen plastic tubes up my nose and tried to rest.  I have to say those are awesome and I totally get the whole "O Bar" concept now!  Just when I'd finally fall asleep, the nurse would come to check my vital signs and fluids.  Needless to say, I didn't sleep much the first night at all.

Although I had 15 staples where my breast used to be, I was moving about pretty well.  I only took regular strength Tylenol as the pain was bearable and I've never really been a pill-popper.  Apparently, they don't serve Shiraz in the rooms either!  Yes, I asked.

My family doctor came by to see how I was doing.  "Well, hello, hello, hello," he said coming through the curtain.  It was so nice to see him.  He's been my doctor for about 26 years now and helped me birth both my babies.  He is a very special man and I adore him.  He always treats me like a loved relative and he makes me feel very warm.  Then came my surgeon.  He is very matter-of-fact and shoots from the hip.  He pulled my bandage off and had a look and a poke around and assured me everything was exactly the way it was supposed to be.  I didn't look.  I couldn't look.  Not ready.  My tummy went queasy and my knees went weak.  Good thing I was still in bed.  He said he'd like me to stay in the hospital a couple more days so I could be monitored.  Not a problem, I assured him.  The thought of going home hadn't crossed my mind quite yet.

In the days that followed in the hospital, I had so much company they were literally tagging each other in the parking lot on the way in/out.  So much support from so many friends.  It was flattering and humbling all at the same time.  They brought home-baked cinnamon buns, flowers, a plant, books, a stuffed bunny named Henley to cuddle, Tim's double-doubles and food that was recognizable, unlike the hospital mush that was offered and rejected.   My parents came every day and made way for the throngs of friends, as it was a two-at-a-time visiting regime.  The hours were supposed to be from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. but mine were apparently from 9:30 a.m. till about 9:00 p.m.  I'm a lucky woman!

On the second evening, Ethel, TeeTee and TeeTee's adult daughter, Taylor, were my last visitors.  I told them about my roommates and they made me laugh so hard at times I was trying to recall how to laugh without pushing, like during childbirth, so that I didn't pop my staples.  Knowing this would be the only time they would come to visit, and since Ethel was my "chest photographer", I asked if she would come into the washroom with me and take the post-surgery picture.  They all said they would come.  I asked if Taylor really thought this was a good idea and she said she was coming in.  So we went to the washroom and I lowered my nightgown to expose my bandage-covered flattened chest.  I looked away.  When I looked back, I saw four eyes full of tears.  They weren't horrified or grossed out, just sad for what their friend had had to endure.  Ethel, usually the one to melt first, said when she looks through the camera to take a picture, things don't affect her the same way so she would cry later.  Another bonding moment that only women friends can understand.

The next day, a fill-in surgeon stopped by and asked me how I was feeling and if I'd like to go home.  I said my surgeon had asked me to stay a couple more days and I really didn't want to go home with the drain hanging out of my chest.  It's a little rubber bulb dangling from a tube that was sewn into my chest at the surgical site.  That grossed me out more than anything.  She agreed and I was there for another day and night.  And yes, the visitors continued to roll in.  That afternoon, Ms. Whines-A-Lot was moved out of the room, Mr. Snores-Like-A-Drunk/Harem-Boss-Wannabe was discharged and Mrs. Coughs-All-Night had her drain removed.  I slept much better that night.

On my last morning, I was allowed to have a shower.  The first thing I noticed when I walked into the room was a pair of gumboots.  Not sure why that was funny but it was.  The nurse told me to just leave the bandage on and it was okay to get it soaked.  That water running over my body felt so good.  It reminded me of the glorious feeling of a long, hot shower after camping.  Unfortunately, the only shampoo was something that required no rinsing and a soap that, well, wasn't exactly spa-like.  So I made the best of the situation and felt renewed in my new gown and towel-wrapped hair.  After another visitor came and went, the nurse came to change my bandage.  I said I felt it was time I looked at my new body and asked her if she would stay with me while I did so.  She was quite young and lovely and when I asked her to hold my hand, she said she would be honoured to do so.  I lay on my back in my hospital bed and she removed the now-soaked bandage.  She offered me a mirror but I said I just wanted a quick glance and only from the top looking down.  Not sure why.  I guess we all process these things in our own way.  The nurse comforted me and said my surgeon was the absolute best and he did a great job.  That was very nice to hear.  The area didn't look as scary and mutilated as I had imagined.  The staples seemed huge.  I thanked her for sharing that with me and being so sweet and understanding.

Then it was time for drain removal.  The procedure, the nurse explained, was that she would cut the stitches that held it in place and then on the count of three, I was to bear down like giving birth, and she would just pull it out.  Sounds easy, right?  I made her go over those directions two or three times, kind of like learning to play a new game for the first time, wanting to get everything just right in my head.  She said it would be uncomfortable.  One...two... -- wait -- wait -- not ready!  Okay.  Deep breath.  Ready.  One...two...three...OUCH!  It felt as though the drain went from my toes to my chest and it was being ripped out of my body with ridiculous force.  That made me cry for a couple of minutes and then I was just so relieved it was out.  I asked about the hole and she said the bleeding was already slowing so she put one big bandage over the whole area.  She said she was sorry it hurt me and patted my hair like I was a child.  I felt like a child so this was the perfect comfort.  After a few more minutes passed, I put on real clothes and waited for my parents to pick me and all my treasures up to go to their place for some recovery time.