The Longest Chapter of My Life -2

II.

The day of the lumpectomy arrived. Checked in. Light banter. Everyone trying to make it seem as if I was having an ingrown nail taken out. Something easy.  Playing it cool. Trying to think of other things and not what was actually happening. Gray socks on my feet, blue cap on my head, a gown ready to fly open, and all my belongings placed in a large bag.  I-V's started, eye drops, blood pressure taken as I listened to conversations and laughter. How could anyone laugh? Nurses accustomed to lumps in breasts. My situation did not bother them. This was every day stuff for them. Temperature taken, oxygen level checked with a little mitt on my finger, pulse 60. Is that good? Blood pressure 122/88. That is good. A needle placed in the vein of my right hand, taped down and I'm placed in a wheel chair to be rolled away to another x-ray room and more explanations.

Needle localization. All explained in lay-person's language. Do I want to know? Half of me does the other half doesn't. Just get it over with. Such concern about me fainting. Others have fainted, will I? Doctor on hands and knees below me sticking a long, thin needle into area he has determined the fuzzy spot of cancer is located. I wish I were somebody else. I wish I would wake up from this horrible dream. I wish I didn't have cancer. Poster on wall, "We press because we care." Yeah, sure. Back to room near where surgery will happen. More dates fed into my brain as I walk into the surgery room. Lie down. Green sheets. Arms outstretched, just like Christ on the cross. Doctors in green or blue, covered from head to toe. All I see are eyes. I ask. "Is that you?" He pulls off his mask so I can see his face. I ask, "Did you wash your hands?" and the next thing I know someone is putting ice chips in my mouth. They repeat my name. I hear talking. Can't figure it out. Laughing. Everything fades away. Bright light. It goes away. Don't know how long I lay there. In and out of consciousness. Very comfortable. Glad it's over. Very sleepy. Tired. Feel nauseous. Ice chips help. Sit me in a chair. Saltines. Reminds me of early in my pregnancy. Sick to my stomach. Tube running out of side as it slowly fills with reddish-pink fluid. I'm draining. I picture cancer being drained straight out of me. Good, drain you sucker, drain.

They determine I can go home. Twice sick. Can't keep saltines or water down. Gagging. Crawling into bed. Sleep on back. Can't turn. Pillows surround me; under my knees, under my arms, under my neck as I try to sleep. Sore. The cut breast is catered to, cradled and placed on a special pillow and babied. For one whole week I drain, milk the tube, empty cup, count ounces, watch color go from red to pink. Tape backing sticks to skin. My breast looks like a map of a foreign country. Swollen. Large, Was there a mistake?  Did I get an implant? Ha ha. 

Days go by and I feel depressed, cheerful, sad, angry, happy and so on. My upper arm tingles, burns, then feels as if it is asleep with a baseball tucked between my dead arm and side. Some days, because lymph nodes were removed, it feels as if a large rubber band tightens around my arm giving me a Novocain numbness and I am told it can last a life time, or not. I read, take vitamin E, Beta Carotene, vitamin C, St. John's Wort, read some more and try to think positive thoughts. The spot is gone. I have nothing to worry about. I will diet and exercise. I will be healthy. Yes, I allow comfort to come to me from family, friends, strangers, and soon I feel as if there is nothing wrong with me. In fact, there is nothing wrong with me. Seven weeks later I have a slight tenderness but I feel great!

And then, I am told "radiation," as a precaution. "You won't feel a thing other than just like a bit of sunburn, but it guarantees that the Cancer will not come back in eight-five percent of the cases." Well, maybe it won't come back and maybe it will. I hate the thought of being a statistic with cancer. But, I am not alone. Many, maybe one out of seven are in my shoes. I will learn to live with the disease that many have, that many hate, and struggle daily to win the battle of the horrible parasite called Cancer. Many have won, yet, many have not.

Continued....