Saturday, October 30, 2010

Farewell Two Fat Bunny Sisters

First of all,

I missed you too.

Second of all, (she laughs maniacally),

I thought five months of chemo was a test of my endurance and will.

Third of all,

Remember what Nietzsche said "That which does not kill us strengthens us"?

I am getting pretty close to the threshold.

Having survived the wait, we headed in to the hospital Tuesday morning.

Miraculously, with a capital "M," I woke up resolved.  I did not feel any lingering grief.  My "git her done" mode, the one I'm famous for, kicked in big time.  We arrived at the hospital, waited to be checked in, then waited to be check in to surgery after that.

A nurse came in to ask me a few questions, making sure I hadn't eaten or drank anything since midnight.  I hadn't, well except for a piece of sugarless gum a few minutes before she came in the room.  She seemed slightly perturbed at the gum thing.

Come on, sugar free!

She got her tray of torture ready to start my IV, then started her search for a good vein.

Good luck Lady.

"I think I will have my Charge Nurse start your IV, I just don't see anything good."

That would become the omen for the day.

Soon after, a very young resident who would be assisting The Wizard with my surgery, came in to introduce himself.  He sure reminded me of 6C, Midge's fiance, who is a Disney animator.  I wasn't listening much to him, his mannerisms were so much like 6C.  He talked as I imagined The Wizard cutting, while his assistant, 6C, sketched Pooh Bear in various poses all over Flopsy and Mopsy.

"Any questions?" he asked.

Nope.  It was hard to take him seriously!  Where's your beanie, man?

Husband and I waited, painfully, until they finally came to get me.  Surgery was scheduled for 12:30 p.m.; it was about 12:40.  They lead Husband to the surgical waiting room, and he gave me a quick peck and said "Good luck."

"Wait I wasn't ready..." I thought.

That's what I always used to say when he'd give me a kiss, just to get a second one out of it.

They lead me through large double doors that swing open into the surgical suite.  It seemed weird I had to walk there myself.  Soon enough I'll be in a wheel chair.  The nurse showed me into a small room divided by cubicles; all kinds of surgical patients filled the labyrinth, all waiting their turn.  She showed me into the cubicle all the way at the back, and said the anesthesiologist would be right with me.

I sat in the little cubicle, about 4'X4', and that's when it hit me.

You are doing this.  Right now.  You are alone.  This is happening.  It's up to you now.  You have to rely on you.

I do what I always do when nervous.  I hummed.

"Think of a wonderful thought, any happy little thought, think of Christmas, think of snow..."

From Peter Pan, you know, You Can Fly.

I took a deep breath and was about to lose it, I don't know, bawl or vomit, one or the other, but the anesthesiologist interrupted me.

He was cute, mid-forties, dirty blond curly hair, a nice watch on one wrist, a little macrame rope on the other.  Seconds away from getting her boobs scooped out, but still noticing the smallest details about this man's hands.  That's how I roll.

He was nice.  We chatted.  I made him laugh.

I could probably make the lynch man at my hanging laugh.  That's how I roll.

He left and the OR nurse came back to lead me to the operating room.

I had to walk there too.  What the hell?

Roll me in people.

Roll me in and drop pieces of lobster dripping in butter into my mouth, for what I'm paying for this little spa visit.

I walked in to the party that was already in progress; they were all laughing and having fun.

You people are at a funeral for two cute fat bunnies, what in the hell are you laughing at?
 
The Wizard sat on a stool to the left of the operating table, and introduced me as I walked in.

"Everyone, this is Mrs. Clay, and she likes me" and he grinned sheepishly as they all laughed louder

He got a smile out of me with that one.  It wasn't long though, they would all stop laughing, and my veins would ruin their little party.

The anesthesiologist was in charge of starting my IV.

"Ah" I thought, "This will be a piece of cake and I'll be asleep before you know it.  Thank you Jesus!"

Fast forward forty-five minutes, he couldn't find a vein, and not for lack of trying and torturing me, all up and down my hands and arms.

When they started checking my feet, tears rolled down my face.  I remember looking up at the OR ceiling and bright lights, and thinking "This can't be happening..."

The Wizard rubbed my foot, stood up, came over to my left hand and gently turned it up and over to search for a vein.

The last thing I remember was The Wizard's voice saying he got one in, but it was only good enough to get me asleep...

Husband would later tell me he waited nervously as the time passed long after I should have been done.  When The Wizard finally came to talk to him in the surgical waiting room almost two hours late, he explained to Husband they had a hard time finding a vein.  They got me asleep using the one he started, and while prepping me for surgery, moved the IV to a better spot.

My neck.

Are u effing kidding me?  Wasn't my little thumb used in chemo enough?  My neck?

You ever had an IV in your damn neck?  It sucks.  It still sucks a few days out, and looks like one of the vampires got me good.  It hurts.

Husband says they got me into my room a little after 6 p.m.; he says I was awake.

I don't remember any of it till I looked up at the clock in the room; it was 10 p.m.

The first conscious thought I could remember was "What the hell is this in my neck?"

I got my bearings, realized where I was, realized it was done.

I lifted up my hospital gown and saw drains where once two fat mischievous bunnies lived.

Holy mama.

Flat as a countertop.

Miraculously, I felt relieved.

Flopsy and Mopsy were left behind in the Kingdom of Lost Breasts.  I loved them.  I did not miss them.

I felt relief, and

what the hell is this thing in my neck?

Can I eat now?



 

2 comments:

Bonnie said...

Deb, just came back to your blog after a long absence and couldn't stop reading. Your humor and wit shines through in every post, no matter how grim your circumstances.

Wishing you a speedy recovery from your surgery.
love, bonnie

masonmft said...

Yikes...they made the girls walk to their execution. Where the hell was the floaty medicine that comes way before you get to the "chamber". There must be an alternate way to administer the "do whatever you want to me shot". Thinking about you. xoxoxo

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