I had to be at the Central Baptist Surgery Center by
8:30 Friday morning. Of course, I couldn’t
eat or drink anything after midnight the previous day. The night before, I had three different
dreams that I had woke up in the middle of the night and devoured stuffed grape
leaves and chocolate truffles. Each time
(in my dream), the morning after, I would have to tell the people at the Surgery
Center about my impulsive gluttony the night before the most important surgery
of my life. During each dream, I had a
different person (Dr. A.J. and my former band director J. Larry Moore - ?- were
two of them) tell me I had to reschedule the surgery. I was
so relieved each time when I woke up with my stomach growling.
My posse (Jeff, Lauren, Jordan, Liz, and Gail) and I waited
for the nurse to open the door and call out, “Family of Elizabeth Damron…”. Meanwhile, we marveled at the cool children’s
playhouse in a room adjacent to ours. I
told Jordan he needed to go climb in there and stick his head out the window so
that I could take a picture. Unless
heights or drugs are involved, he’s not usually one to pass on a dare. Besides, as you’ve already guessed, I sometimes
use comic relief to help me through anxious moments. He was willing to do almost anything to humor
me. Jordan walked over to the abandoned playhouse
and tested the wooden ramp to ensure it would hold his 6’ 3”, 175 lb. frame. I had my phone ready to snap a quick
picture. The waiting room was far from
empty and most of the other nervous patients were less than amused. My 21 year-old, climbed up that ramp, stuck
his head through the tiny window and struck a classic ‘Heeeeeeeere’s Johnny!!!”
devilish smile from The Shining. Even Jack
Nicholson would have been impressed. I
snapped a quick photo and we all giggled like high school students e-mailing
each other the photo. The staff there
never saw us coming.
They finally called my name and said that my entourage
could come back two at a time to stay with me before surgery. Despite having completed lengthy
questionnaires concerning my health history, three separate nurses both asked
the same questions .. “Do you have or have you ever had…high blood pressure?
heart disease? diabetes? kidney stones? liver failure? Do you smoke or have you
ever smoked? Do you use recreational
drugs?” No.no.no.no.no.no.no. Cancer?
Ugh. This was a first. I felt
that familiar kick in the gut again.
Then I realized that I will always have to check the YES box after that
question. I started shaking violently and they gave me
another warm blanket from the toaster.
They proceeded to ask me about my medications and were pleasantly
surprised to hear me say, “None”, now that my oncologist took me off my
bio-identical hormones. Each nurse asked
me what surgery I would be having and where on my body it would be. Of course, I wondered why they didn’t already
know this information, but then remembered when I recalled some past news articles
about surgeries performed on the wrong body parts.
Lauren and Jordan came back first, asking what I’d like
to eat when I was in recovery. I’ve had
several surgeries over the years and know that I always wake up hungry and my
teeth chattering uncontrollably. I said, “Chocolate fro-yo from Orange Leaf
with bananas and whipped cream on top.”
Lauren said, “You got it, Mom.” Jordan
followed… “Keep your eye on the prize, Mama!”
“You’re making me hungry!” my surgeon, Dr. A.J., said as
he pulled back the curtain. According to
many previous patients and the Lexington medical industry, I had the best
surgeon in town. It sure didn’t hurt
that he was compassionate, charming, and very handsome. While asking some basic questions, he pulled
out a Sharpie and marked an x or something like it on the left side of my
chest. I imagined myself as a surgeon,
chatting with my staff during a procedure, “What did you all do over the weekend?” or “Have you seen the new movie…?” Then….”Wait!
Wasn’t this lumpectomy supposed to be on the left breast?” Good
thing I chose a different profession.
Then…I asked Dr. A.J. for a strange request. I asked him to take a picture of the tumors
because I want to see what I’m fighting.
He said he understood and would find a way to get a photo for me.
Shortly afterward, Jeff, Gail, and Liz relieved the
kids, scolding them for hogging the visitation minutes with me. I smile because it’s nice to have them argue
over spending them with me. There wasn’t
time for much more than hugs and kisses from each of them. The
nurse put a sterile cap on my head and tucked in my hair. Gail pulled out her camera as she was
probably anxious to post photos of me on Facebook looking like a cafeteria lunch
lady. Liz and Jeff told her that it probably
wasn’t a good idea.
As the nurse rolled me back into the sterile room, I
told her that this is the time when I usually “lose it”. She said that they were going to take really
good care of me and not to worry about a thing.
They lifted me up onto another gurney and wheeled an arm rest next to my
left arm to keep it stretched out perpendicular to my body. I grimaced when she placed it on the padded
arm rest. She said, “Does that hurt?” I told them about my “incident” during our
25th anniversary celebration...bubbles and all. She told me to move it to where it was
comfortable for me. The last thing I remember
hearing was Dr. A.J. say, “Bless her heart.”
One of the worst parts about having surgery is waking
up. Thank God I never wake up nauseated
but I’m always annoyed. “Ann….Ann…Ann…wake
up….Ann! Ann! Open your eyes!” It reminds me of my mom trying to wake me up
for school when I was a teenager. On a few occasions, out of desperation, Mom poured cold water on my head.
Shortly thereafter, the nurse said she wanted
me to have some crackers and asked if I preferred saltines or graham crackers. I chose the latter, and ordered a chocolate
bar and toasted marshmallow with it.
They just didn’t know what to make of me. The
nurse mentioned something about me being funny while I was coming back to
conscienceness. This statement always
worries me. When I was in my twenties I
had my wisdom teeth extracted in Lexington.
I was given the “twilight sleep” form of IV sedation and woke up to
several nurses laughing hysterically saying, “You are sooo funny!” They never would tell me what I said or did
that had them laughing so hard. Pretty
disconcerting.
“What did I say?”
I asked my nurse Lisa yesterday. She said, “What happens in the O.R. stays in
the O.R.” Hmmm. With a little coaxing, I learned that I told
Dr. A.J. that he was cute. Eh. That’s pretty harmless and hardly a comment
worthy of post surgery laughter. There
are some things one never wants to know, I guess.
Then, I cried my
first tears of the day. Happy tears. Lauren carried in a vase of a dozen roses
from her friends Krista and Jennifer and read the card to me. It was a beautifully written, thoughtful
message which made me cry “the ugly cry”.
A few hours after surgery, they released me. Jeff, the kids, and I hung out at Liz’s house
for several hours. I couldn’t believe
how great I felt. The painkillers were
working but not making me too loopy.
There was very little swelling, which was sure to come tomorrow. Dr. A.J. said the pathology report would be in
next week and we would discuss the results, which would hopefully tell us that
radiation was unnecessary.
Ever since the day I met her over twenty years ago, Liz
always said that I’m the sister she never had.
She always signs her e-mails,
cards or notes “I love you more than _________” The prized possession always changes, but
because of our past experiences, I always get the reference and feel the love.
Sylvia, my longtime childhood (Bohemian Rhapsody) friend
who now lives in Indiana, wanted to take time off from her new position and see
me before and after surgery. I asked her
to save her time for one of my chemo days, when I would be lucid. Those
infusions last for hours and I thought it would be nice to actually remember
all of her visit. I’m so touched that
she would spend six hours drive time..and take time off work…to stay with me
during the infusion.
Another dear
friend, Carol, also said she will take a day off and stay with me during a chemo
session. I’m just so lucky to have such
good friends!
Chemo will likely start the last week of August or the
first week of September. I will have a port installed a few days
before. For those of you, like me, who are
unsure about why exactly oncologists think they’re important, here’s a brief
explanation:
How is the Port-A-Cath
used?
Generally chemotherapy drugs are very toxic
and irritating to the skin, tissues and veins. Giving such potent medications into a small vein can irritate
and cause inflammation of these blood vessels, resulting in long-term scarring
and blockage of these veins. Also, giving chemo
into a small vein allows the medication to leak into the nearby tissues and
cause tissue damage. As a result, such
medications are administered into a large central vein so that they can be
immediately diluted by a large volume of blood and be delivered effectively
throughout the entire body. The chemotherapy drugs
are usually administered into the Internal Juglar or Subclavian vein; but
sometimes Brachial vein may also be used. Studies show that the use of the Port-A-Cath in treatment &
management of cancer patients, results in shorter hospital stay, less nursing
time spent trying to access veins, preservation of the small veins, fewer
emergency visits, decreased cost of therapy and overall greater patient
satisfaction. As a result, the port
serves a safe and effective route of giving chemotherapy drugs.
How is the Port
placed?
Placing the Port is a small surgical procedure
and takes less than an hour. It is performed by an
interventional radiologist under local anesthesia with IV sedation.The
procedure involves a 3cm skin incision on the chest wall for the port pocket
and 5mm incision in lower neck to enter the vein. The port is placed completely inside the body. One end of the catheter is inserted into the
vein while the other end is connected to the portal, under the skin. The tip of the catheter lies in a vein just
above the heart.
There will be eight separate sessions lasting 16 weeks (every
2 weeks). The oncologist says that due to the “dense dose” and the frequency of
the infusions, my immune system will be seriously compromised, and I will need
to stay out of convenient stores, which is what I do for a living. I should be ready to resume work around
January 2nd.
Liz, Grant, and me -hours after surgery
Heeeeeere's Jordan in the waiting room at the Central Baptist Surgical Center.
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