There's a tiny window of opportunity, between when the narcotic I took in the recovery room six hours ago wears off and the one I took a few minutes ago ramps up (hopefully not as slowly as the first). I can write briefly. I'm home, and I'm doing astonishingly well, considering what they did to me.
There was a little goof on our schedule this morning. The person at the women's imaging clinic who came out to explain said it was human error, and it really wasn't such a big deal that I dare be upset about it. I was supposed to get a little dose of a radioactive substance to trace where the tumor drained into the lymph nodes, so they knew which to remove to biopsy. Someone forgot to order the dose of the tracer that comes from my hospital chain's centralized nuclear medicine lab in Denver. It had to be rushed up here by a delivery person. It was administered at 1240, ten minutes after my original take-off time. The imaging folks were super contrite, and I kept trying to assure them I didn't mind. It made no difference in my surgery, and it gave me something to write about. No harm, no foul.
Nearly everyone I encountered offered an opinion of my surgeon. To a one, the common theme was "She's amazing!" Two completely different people on different days even called her "an artist." I was in the absolute right place. The nursing staff, admitting folks, anaesthesia crew, and everyone else I ran into were equally helpful, competent, cheerful, and comforting. It was a 100% positive experience.
The last memory I had before surgery (after the sedative but before the anaesthesia) was them raising the gurney to the level of the operating table, but wanting to put a different velcro surgical bra on the table under me before I moved over. I have NO IDEA how I got to the operating table. Next thing I knew I was having a conversation with a voice in recovery, for about five minutes before my eyesight came back. For the record, I think I have a crush on the recovery nurse. In a building full of cool people, I think she was my favorite. Maybe it was just because she kept pushing the pain meds until I was under control, and she gave me the ice pack and two heated blankets at once.
I had a good evening once I got home. It took a full three hours before I really got relief from the stinging pain of the incisions (tumor excision and sentinal node biopsy). I had about two hours of euphoria (and face itching), before the aching started creeping back. By 9 pm I was ready for dose two. It's just now kicking in, so I hope I can remember to get out the rest of my story before I nod off. Maybe I'll just put notes under photos from here.
Day surgery tech has come so far since my gallbladder came out more than a decade ago. They have a monitor in the waiting room, and a privacy-maintaining case number, so you know exactly where your loved ones are. On the back is a number and code so you can get complete info if they get admitted overnight. So good!
Allergy, allergy, ID band, and sleep apnea risk? Okay, y'all gotta stop it with the abundance of caution. Also, mom is disappointed that my vet wrap over the IV site was a boring "nude" color. (Yes, we have issues with "default" skin color descriptions. Not the time for that.) She thinks I should have been offered a choice of something more cheerful.
On a blue background, with blue Christmas lights in the ficus tree next to me, with just a LED light bulb for illumination, I guess you can't actually tell that I had blue antiseptic surgery wash all the way up to my lower lip, and stayed that way until I finally remembered to wipe it off around 8 pm.
There we are. An hour and a half (?) later, the night time pain pill is getting me. I'm surprised I made it this long still writing whole sentences. Can't tell whether they made any sense. Does anyone care if I rambled? If you made it this far, I'll say you didn't care.
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