Discussing Breast Cancer

It’s hard to describe the pain I felt when I became coherent after my surgery (my double mastectomy/reconstruction surgery, for those who are just joining the conversation).

Even the slightest movement pained me. The slightest movement, like breathing.

I was eventually wheeled up to a private room on a floor reserved for women — I didn’t realize the gift that was in the long run. At the time, I was so confused. Why I didn’t have people looking after me and caring for my every need and whim. Honestly, I felt discarded. I was so immobile, so vulnerable, so afraid.

I was afraid the pain would never subside, afraid my blood would clot, afraid an infection would start, afraid I’d never heal, never move again. Afraid …

Well, afraid I’d die from the pain.

Then I realized they weren’t giving me any pain medication yet.

NOTHING.

If I was to advocate for a change in anything related to surgery it would be that transition time between surgery and recovery that are so frightening for the patient. Frightening because nobody is truly in charge anymore. In the OR there are loads of people who know what they are doing. Once you are settled in your room afterwards there is a nursing staff who knows what they are doing. But the transition between the two places needs serious improvement. At least the day of my surgery it did.

I guess there were still pain meds in my system from the OR and that needed to run its course. Whatever, the whole experience had me upset, my husband nearly frantic (his feelings of helpless and lack of control are tabled for a post for another day).

So they get the morphine drip hooked up and things became more manageable. Not the pain, mind you, but the anxiety.

Until my husband finally goes home around midnight (we did have kids desperate to see him in the morning to find out how mommy was remember, their needs came before mine). But that’s when the morphine pump goes empty and the horrible beeping started.

And I couldn’t move.

And it took twenty minutes for a nurse to finally respond to my call.

I suppose that would be another area that needs improvement … that middle of the night nonsense. They come in, they take your vitals, draw blood, all this stuff that wakes you up yet when you need them, they’re nowhere to be found.

I was such a wreck, crying, complaining. I just wanted someone to make the whole thing better for me. But all they did was tell me I’d feel better the following day. So I was anxious for that, anxious to start to feel a difference.

But that difference never came. By morning I was running a temperature of over 102. Something was wrong.

Breast Cancer, Surgery, Mastectomy

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