No Shiraz in the Operating Room

September 2nd, THE DAY I LOST MY BREAST.  My parents accompanied me to the hospital early in the morning.  I was a bit nervous but the hospital staff kept me very busy.  I had to go downstairs to have radioactive dye injected into my breast, between the nipple and tumour to be exact (weak knees here), to locate the sentinel node.  I was hoping my surgeon was good enough to know where that was but it turns out it's not always the same in each person.  Whew.  We walked through automatic doors marked with those yellow radioactive symbol hazard stickers.  Gulp.  I was told I would have the sensation of heat running through my veins.  I felt nothing and asked the person doing the procedure if she were sure everything went okay.  She said it was done properly and not to worry, that the onset of this sensation may take a few minutes.  I never felt a thing and was thankful for that.  I was directed back upstairs to meet with a nurse to have my vitals taken and the usual pre-op information exchanged.  Then back downstairs to the Nuclear Medicine Radiology machine, you know the one, like on TV where they slide you into the big round machine on a two-inch wide table and ask you not to move for ten minutes while your body is contorted in an impossible position.  That was interesting but a wee bit claustrophobic.  Again, back upstairs to get a needle in the back of my hand to hook my fluids into.  Since I figured I would then be going straight into surgery I said goodbye to my folks.  Then I was told my surgeon had been delayed with an emergency so my operation was delayed as a result.  I called my mom and Ethel to let them know as I knew everyone was waiting for "the call" after my surgery and didn't want them to worry that something had gone wrong.  I waited about an hour and drained my first bag of fluids.

The nurse came for me.  With Beethoven's 5th Symphony starting up in my head, I walked into the operating room in that hot gown with the shoulder snaps.  There were about ten people in the room.  I said, "Oh, good, I found the party room."  I was asked if it would be okay for some student doctors/nurses to observe the procedure and I reminded them that if they did anything to me while I was under, I would hunt them down and make them accountable.  Silly them.  They believed me.  Till I laughed and ordered a glass of Shiraz.  Then the surgeon came in.  I told him he ruined everything by showing up; that we were just about to have a toast.  He directed me to the operating table.  I lied down and suddenly felt very vulnerable.  He put his hand on my shoulder and asked if the reality were setting in.  I felt a tear run down my cheek.  He's good.  I was asked to breathe in oxygen and that was it.

What seemed like a second later, I woke up in recovery to the sound of a high-pitched child's voice saying, "May I please have some ice chips?"  I looked around through the haze and saw the surgeon on the phone.  I heard him say my dad's name so I assumed he was phoning to report I was still alive.  I heard the voice again, "Ice chips?  Please, some ice chips?"  It was a little girl's voice, I determined.  I couldn't believe children were in the same recovery room.  I looked to my left and there was a wall.  I looked to my right and there was a big man laying on the gurney next to mine with tattoos down his arm.  He had a shaved head.  There was an oxygen mask on his face that covered his goatee.  I saw his mouth say the words I'd been hearing begging for ice chips.  I thought for a minute and after he said it again in a shrill voice, I blurted out in his direction, "Put on your big girl panties and shut up!"  I heard the doctor say into the telephone, "Yes, she's just fine."  There was laughter from beyond.  Nurses maybe?  Then I thought later that guy is going to find me and kill me for what I said.  Of course, I'm not sure this was real or imagined in my stoned state but it was definitely funny afterwards to share with my hospital room visitors.